Grow Up or Die
by SkyeMoor
Summary: Harry Potter is quite dead, and Draco Malfoy is very, very confused. Nothing is as it seems, and that's what's bothering him.
1. Chapter 1

**[author's note: This is a stub of a story. if you're interested in it continuing, read and review.]**

 _Something_ was wrong, Draco Malfoy thought. Oh, more than the usual... More than the _obvious_. And that was entirely, thoroughly, aggravating. Walking by the lake, he kicked a stone into the water, watching the ripples echo out. He was _missing_ something - at least one thing. Picking up another stone, he skipped it out on the water, randomly remembering how he used to do that as a child. It skipped five times. The next stone he skipped, well, didn't. It just fell into the water, sinking down into the depths. Kind of like how Draco felt about this problem. He didn't like _not knowing_. Feigned arrogance was likely to be spotted by some enterprising Slytherin, anyway.

Frowning, he thought back to Harry Potter's funeral - was it a week ago, _already_? He hadn't wanted to go, truly. Draco was sure that none of the Slytherins had wanted to go... They hadn't been friends, weren't _close_... it was positively undignified to intrude on other people's grief. Draco looked out over the black lake, thinking - _picturing_ that tossled black hair and green eyes. And his feet started to walk, moving of their own accord. Towards a small graveyard, near the forest and Hagrid's hut. Half closing his eyes, Draco turned his thoughts inward, searching for the missing piece to the puzzle. **Nothing** had seemed _quite_ right since Potter had died... _nothing_. But... some things were _wronger_ than others.

Opening his eyes, he looked down at Potter's grave, unsurprised that his feet had led him here, all unknowing. Alright, that was why he hadn't been looking. Because if he had looked, he would have turned away. Here, his eyes remembered Potter's smile - humming with energy; Potter had never done serene, and certainly not while smiling. For a moment, it seemed impossible that Potter was dead. Who'd have thought that Malfoy of all people would be missing that lanky Gryffindor? And yet he was.

While the boy with the scar had been alive, Draco's life had been simple. Childhood rivalries, small fights, who was on top... Nothing really mattered... Now, now things were different. Draco longed for a time when he could be a child. Because that was clearly gone now. Not because death had visited Hogwarts, or any such tripe like that. No, now there were decisions to make. Plans to spin, sides to pick. Before, it had been easy - there were two sides, Dumbledore's and the Dark Lord's. Now? Now!? Dumbledore had cried at the funeral, said that Harry Potter had dedicated his life to ensuring the Dark Lord wouldn't be coming back...

But Harry Potter was dead. And that was a bit of a problem. Everyone had kind of fallen into the habit of Harry Potter saving the day - and even when he hadn't, people had _believed_ that he would.

Kicking an aimless stone, Draco frowned. The very next day, Neville Longbottom had stood at the front of the Great Hall, proclaimed as the _new_ Boy Who Lived. And that was the exact moment when Draco had this shadowy idea sneak close to him, nearly brushing him. _Something's off_ , he had thought. But what?, Draco asked, as unsure now as he had been six days ago. Neville had been shaking, had seemed like a leaf might crush him, as he spoke with a stutter about what Harry Potter would have wanted, and how he was going to follow in Harry's footsteps. _Right into the grave_ , Draco had snarked quietly, unnoticed by any Slytherin other than Theo, who had merely shot him a warning look. Not wanting to get burnt, Draco had henceforth held his peace.

That was a piece, Draco thought, straightening suddenly. _That_ wasn't Neville! Or at least, not anymore. He had been acting like he had acted when he was in first year, for god's sake! Oh, everyone _else_ might still think of him that way, but Draco was good at observing. Closing his eyes, he asked himself what Neville would have said, if Dumbledore had proclaimed him the Boy Who Lived. Surprisingly, it sounded mostly like what Neville had said. Shaking his head, Draco asked himself what would have been different.

 _ **Attitude.**_ Neville was in Gryffindor for a reason, after all. It had taken him a bit to grow into, but the lad had courage enough. Gryffindors were suckers for lost causes, anyhow. The Neville who stood in a greenhouse, and with a sure punch subdued the latest vegetal monstrosity - _that_ Neville would not have quailed under the pressure. (A tiny part of Draco muttered that he, himself, might have quailed...). Frowning, Draco sat on Potter's tombstone. Most people were used to thinking of Neville in terms of Potions Class, where he was a hazard and a menace to boot. Quietly, Draco began to plan, his heels drumming a dirge on Potter's tombstone. First, he had to figure out who believed this new-old Neville.


	2. Creadence

For a day, Draco listened. Everyone thought he had such a big mouth that no one would really believe he had mastered one of the most basic of Slytherin tactics. From shadows, from corners, even in the Great Hall, his ears were open and his mouth was shut. Oh, and the things he heard! With a bit of a smirk, he stuffed the juicier ones into the back of his head. Blackmail was _always_ useful, and you never knew whose help you might need next.

"Neville."

"Can you believe Longbottom?"

"There's no way, absolutely no way this is going to work! Neville Longbottom!"

"I wish I could tell Harry how much we were counting on him." Oh, sure, because that would make him _less dead_.\

"New Zealand - just you watch."

"Canada, at least they speak English there."

"Zaire." That was Blaise, strangely enough. He had seemed haughty before, but _really_?

"The Dark Lord's got plans, and now that the World's Savior is gone..."

"Longbottom? He's pathetic."

The Hufflepuffs, strangely enough, seemed to be taking the whole thing the worst. The Gryffindors were putting up a brave front - because _of course they were._ It was what they did. The Ravenclaws seemed to think that neutrality was an option. Draco knew that it wasn't, that standing in the middle was the worst place to stand. And people thought _Slytherins_ were cowards! Judgement and prudence and cunning were Slytherin virtues - but a snake knows when to strike, and when to hide in the grass waiting. The Slytherins were gloating, insufferably - even the ones that weren't Dark. Every single Slytherin remembered Potter's tendency to steal victory from them, and not just on the Quiddich field either.

From the top of the school, to the bottom, no one seemed to notice that something was wrong. Granted, Draco thought in a brief moment of kindness, one couldn't expect Granger to be thinking clearly right now...

Unbeknownst to him, one set of blue eyes had been watching him, sitting out on that tombstone. The airhead was waiting for him, flanking him and walking to the top of the Astronomy Tower. Draco Malfoy, for all that he prided himself on his cunning and stealth, hadn't noticed.

Draco Malfoy smelled something odd, nearly the scent of nutmeg. Turning about, he saw Luna Lovegood, a small handful of flowers in her hand. Walking past him, she pressed the flowers into his hands, ineffably smiling, and saying, "no rest for the wicked. Just something for your sleepwalking."

Draco Malfoy shook his head amusedly, letting the flowers fall one by one off the edge of the tower. Like hell he was going to be seen with - what _were_ these, anyway? [a/n: kola flowers, imported.] His mother loved flowers, but he'd never seen anything like _these_.

Looking out over the black lake, Draco Malfoy shook his head, wondering why everyone was blinkered idiots, blind to the obvious. Oh, he'd expect it out of Hufflepuff, and it wasn't surprising that the Gryffindors would fall for anything, but even the Slytherins were smug and selfsatisfied at the news. Draco Malfoy was less than sanguine about the odds of the Dark Lord winning, and that didn't even call into question what a victory would actually _mean_. It had been one thing to cheer for a Slytherin victory, preferably on the backs of kowtowing Gryffindors. It was another to smell the bloated corpses of a wartime victory - it turned Draco's stomach, and that wasn't easy to do (the Slytherins had a King of the Hill game where they competed to gross each other out. Draco was rather good at winning.)

What was happening? Draco hated being clueless about what was going on. It was worse, now that he knew that no one (except maybe Lovegood? of all people...) was even concerned. not knowing was dangerous, and Draco's inquisitive nature was urging him towards something daring and quite possibly impulsive.

When nothing makes sense, break it worse.


	3. Somethin' wrong wif Neville?

The next day saw Draco Malfoy up early, showered and out for Quiddich practice. Being seeker meant that most of practice was spent either yelling at people, or speeding along as fast as he was able. Surprisingly enough, the latter left plenty of time for contemplation. Defying death in spirals or zigs was just part of the game, after all. Unlike Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy wasn't prone to falling off or other such ignominities.

By the end of the practice, Draco had a decent plan, a subtle plan that wouldn't implicate him in the slightest. A simple, anonymous note, delivered to one of the bigger gossips in Ravenclaw - George Clary, asking just what was wrong with Neville?

There were two problems with that plan: The first being that Clary had seen fit to read the damn thing aloud, which was bad enough. The second was Luna Lovegood, who had looked straight at Draco Malfoy and said, "I'm not quite sure, but you'll figure it out." And that blasted tone was _bothering_ him! It wasn't mocking, it wasn't confident... it was strangely flat, as if speaking plainest truth. Of course, if anyone was likely to be a seer, Luna Lovegood would have to be it, wouldn't she?

Nevertheless, none of the Ravenclaws seemed to understand - with one of the dullest going over to ask if Neville had taken sick. Or maybe she wasn't quite as dull as she pretended, Malfoy mused, as he watched a rather fetching blush paint her neck.

Draco contemplated his options over breakfast, looking at the entire room, hoping for a clue to drop out of the sky. He'd have considered asking the Gryffindors, but... nothing was going to make Ronald and Hermione snap out of mourning. Not _now_. They were clinging to each other like lifelines. Which was a pity, the mudblood witch knew more about unraveling puzzles than most any other person he could name. Thinking of who he could name, his gaze flicked up to the high table, towards ol' man Snape perched like a bird, with a scowl worthy of a disgruntled bear. If anyone knew what was going on, anyone at all, there was fair odds that Snape knew... for such a tall, angular man, he slunk through the shadows, quiet as an owl's wing. Thing of it was... Snape had no reason to tell him. And Snape never did anything for _no good reason_. If he even knew, he'd ask a favor... and the price for this one sounded suspiciously high. Because whatever it was, had to do with the Wizarding World's bizarre fascination and idolatry for the Boy Who Lived. And asking to be let in on that big a secret... well, this was hardly just classroom gossip, now was it?

Besides, Draco thought dourly, he'd like to figure it out himself. He spared a considering glance towards the Weasley twins, plotting their next crazy prank... Now _there_ were two lads he could do a simple favor for. Sticking the thought in the back of his hat, he strolled off towards his first class of the day. Potions, a double. If he played his cards right, he might actually be able to show Neville off in a good light. Operation Quince: make the chubby kid look like a hero. Well, if it only shook something loose, it would have done well enough.


	4. Stage Two

Draco Malfoy had got to be passing good at destroying Potter's potions. There had never been any terribly good reason for that, either. It was good training, of course, and Prof. Snape had certainly approved. His status in Slytherin certainly rose whenever he pulled a cruel prank, that was for certain. So, indeed, he had never had any good reason, but simply a multitude of bad ones.

Today he arrived precisely. Not first, not last, but ducking out of a corridor to come to class just shadowing Neville Longbottom. Neville had nearly jumped, when Malfoy slid into the seat beside him. "Oh, I thought you were Hermione!" Neville babbled.

"Because I'm known for bushy hair and an overbite." Malfoy said, his tone ice.

Neville blinked stupidly back at him, and then ventured, cautiously, "Did you just crack a joke?"

"That would imply that I could do anything less than perfectly." Malfoy said, his drawling tone bored and supercilious.

Class started with the usual bang of Prof. Snape slamming the door shut. They were quiet for the rest of the period, with Neville merely nearly blowing both their heads off three times, and once nearly clearing the room with poisonous gas. Draco was well used to compensating for inadequate help, of course. He never worked with either Goyle or Crabbe in class, but was in charge of their "private potions lessons." Yet another command from his godfather that he knew better than to disobey. (Yet another sign that Granger-the-goodie-goodie was a fool: she'd have been compensated, one way or another, for helping the Boy-Who-Died, if only she had waited to be asked. Wanting to help was no grande sin... not getting paid for it was the foolishness. Not that Draco had ever truly wanted to help his minions. They were just that, _minions_.)

Zambini was watching him, creaking wheels slowly turning in his head... _He doesn't know anything, and by the time he's ready to make a move... Knowledge is power, I trust and hope._ Normally, Draco would have expected Ron and Granger (particularly Granger) to be annoyed, or whispering about him stealing Granger's chosen seat. They moved like useless automatons, too tarred in grief to see the feathers in front of their face. Draco fought back a smile, with the air of long practiced patience, knowing that if he let it show, it would look like a cat who had just caught a canary - complete with a feather at the side of his mouth. There was a reason Draco Malfoy rarely smiled, it was too _obvious_.

Prof. Snape stared levelly at Draco as he handed in the potion, not saying a word. That was itself odd, as if Prof. Snape was doing Arithmetical calculations... and perhaps he was. The daft old sorting hat had sung a strange song at the Sorting... perhaps the words had rung as strangely in Prof. Snape's twisty mind as they had in Draco Malfoy's.

[a/n: Yes, Draco Malfoy can turn "get to class" into something worthy of a superspy. To be fair, if he hadn't had precise timing, Hermione would have sat with Neville, and all his scheming would be ruined for the day.

Read and Review, and I'll write more - I promise! If you don't review, we'll just see...

Prof. Snape isn't thinking about the sorting hat's song at all, of course. Just a convenient distraction...]


	5. PoisonAid

Draco Malfoy walked out by the lake, circling it idly, staring into it's black depths as if they could possibly tell him exactly what was wrong. _Something_ was bothering him, and it was like an itch that he couldn't scratch, because he didn't even know where it was. _It was as if... everything was wrong. Hmm... assume a puzzle piece is missing, assume I'm not getting everything I need to figure this one out. Why does Dumbledore seem so satisfied? What is going on?_

Similar thoughts cascaded through his mind, as he walked around - crowding n, pressing him, making it hard to breathe. Even though it was cold out, Draco stripped, suddenly - and jumped into the lake in the buff, not caring that someone carelessly looking out a window might see. He was _thinking_ , after all. As the air burned his lungs, and the cold stripped the heat from his body, he thought, his huffy breaths coming out like puffs. If you can't find the weaknesses, attack the strengths - and watch _carefully_. About the only thing he was certain of, was that Neville Longbottom was acting peculiar - more twisted than wrong - bent.

He would figure out what he could about the boy (he didn't have any classes with him other than Potions, after all, and even though that was the other boy's weakness - or so he figured, he might need to test that, Draco considered...). From apples to nuts, he'd learn. Draco Malfoy was good at learning - but he was even better at bribing other people. His first step would be Goyle and Crabbe. They were huge hulks, but most people learned early not to pay much attention to them. They were slow, but rarely as stupid as they seemed.


	6. Noplace, Everyplace

Every day this week, every single blighted day. Absolutely nothing. Draco Malfoy was fuming, as he strode up the steps, high into the castle. He wanted to run, to leap, to pound his frustrations into the stone. To be every bit as undignified as those blasted Gryffindors. At last, he stood atop the rampart, casting small stone after small stone off the castle. It wasn't like anyone was down there... probably.

Something wasn't right - Crabbe and Goyle just couldn't see it.

Something in Malfoy ached to climb, to stretch, to work until he had a pleasant sheen of sweat to himself. And so he did. With every step, he felt the wrongness of the world - of Hogwarts, specifically, fading away from him. It was here that he could concentrate. Noplace and everyplace at once. He let his imagination roam... If it was Neville that poked at him so - like a thorn... Surely - something about him - about the people around him. But no. There was nothing. He was still Neville. Well, I suppose he was less around Granger and Weasel... but that wasn't unexpected. They were grieving.

Malfoy slid to a halt, his speed too fast to stop on a knut. They were grieving - Granger and Weasel - Ginger too, he was certain. But... but... but... Luna? Neville? They _weren't_. Of course, one never knew with Luna, whether she was ditzy or audacious. Maybe she was simply both, he considered, as he began to walk. Neville... he seemed the type to deal with grief quietly. With his plants, even.

So where was the asphodel? Had he missed it? This bore investigation...

[a/n: Asphodel is planted in Hades' domain, where normal people dwell.]


	7. Comic Relief?

Draco was sitting by the black lake, on a wide rock as high as his waist. He was looking out over the water, thinking. There had to be some way to understand what was wrong. There just had to. It was like an itch that lived on the inside of his skin. He closed his eyes, letting the faces of everyone he knew play over his mind, rising out of his memory. Significant numbers of them were unchanged - Crabbe and Goyle didn't know how to worry, Draco figured. After all, they had him to watch out for them. Snape's face seemed chiseled, recently - flinty, where once it had seemed like chipped obsidian. And just as likely to strike sparks if you weren't cautious with your words. McGonagall's face had that bluntness that one expected out of a mace, not the old battleaxe that she really was. You could tell she was trying to hold herself together - and against all odds (particularly for a Gryffindor) it was working. Maybe she cried in private? Always possible - everyone knew how she favored her young lions. She was known to be almost as partial as Snape was to his Slytherins - and that was always more justifiable, as everyone else hated the Slytherins.

Lost in thought, Draco's eyes had slid nearly shut, when he heard the sounds of Crabbe and Goyle bumbling over. The crack of a stick (on the sandy shore?), a grunt, rustling of cheap cotton robes... He turned around before they could say a word, leaving them both with open mouths as they looked at him. "Find anything interesting from the Weasleys?" Draco snapped, his voice drill-sergeant hard - and just as impersonal. If he wanted to yell at the brutes, he'd use a different tone, and well they knew it.

"Nope, nothing." Crabbe said, his voice characteristically gruff.

"I think they saw us following them..." Goyle said, proving once again that he was the more articulate one.

And then a very curious thing happened. Goyle and Crabbe began to sing.

"There's a hole in my bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza. There's a hole in my bucket, dear Liza a hole."

"Then fix it dear Henry, dear Henry, fix it!"

At this point, the both of them picked Draco up under the arms and began to spin him around - still singing. Draco closed his eyes (which didn't help with the motion sickness, but did help him think).

"With what should I fix it dear liza dear liza. With what should I fix it, dear liza with what?"

"With a straw, dear Henry Dear henry, dear henry, with a straw, dear Henry, Dear henry a straw."

"You're not Crabbe and Goyle, are you?" Draco said, in a voice that would have sounded weary, if not for that he had to shout over the cacaphonous singing. As it was, it merely sounded... abrupt.

The two lads turned broad _Weasley_ grins on him - and kept singing. Draco, whose stomach was starting to feel the unasked for spinning, finally hissed, "Enough" in a deep carrying voice that he had stolen directly from Rubeus Hagrid.

The hideous, nay, wretched singing stopped. "You sing even worse than they do, you know?"

"Nah, we sing loads better this way. They've got quite a voice, Greg and Vince. Carries near back to the castle." Draco very carefully did not turn around to look. For one, he thought he might fall over. For a second, he thought there might be people looking at the decidedly abnormal display of gaiety.

"But they've only been following you for a week! How'd you pull it off?" Draco's inner spoilt child could only be suppressed for so long, it appeared. "Polyjuice takes a month to brew."

"Luckily, we came prepared." The twins shared a smile over Draco's head. "Tell anyone and you'll regret it, but we always have a pot on." No wonder they were constantly able to slide things even past the teachers, Draco thought. Imagine impersonating Snape! No one would ever ask what the potion was, for fear of the Potion Master's foul temper.

"You don't like being followed that much?" Draco asked.

"Well, as much as it interferes with business..." one of the twins said to the other.

"we figured that if you needed mischief, you'd just have talked to us!"

"Which means you're about..."

"Something bigger than mischief!"

"And we gotta know -"

"What's been bothering the Silver Prince of Slytherin." Oh, great, a new nickname, Draco Malfoy thought crossly.

"Nothing's been bothering me." Draco Malfoy said, shaking his head. "In fact, I think that's the problem. I've become bored."

"Want some help with that?" the twins had identical grins on their faces, which was odd, as Greg and Vince weren't normally that synchronous.

"You two couldn't possibly help me. You're veritable whirlwinds of chaos, yet manage to be quite boring despite that."

"Boring?"

"... boring?"

"Yeah. But I'll tell you what, when I do figure out what's bothering me - assuming it isn't nothing... You want in?" Draco Malfoy gave his shark's grin.

"It's skullduggery that he's talking."

"Something we specialize in."

"What do you say, brother?"

"I don't know, what do you say brother?"

And they stopped looking at each other, and looked at Draco Malfoy with what he hoped was their serious face (being Weasleys it was hard to tell).

"We're in."

[Well, that gets the sharp Gryffs off his back for the moment. Read and review, folks! ]


	8. Unwelcome feeling of restlessness

Draco paced up and down the stairs to the Astronomy Tower. He had something on his mind, and he didn't like that. Shouldn't someone other than him have noticed that things just weren't adding up? He knew there was something that he was missing, but what?

And so he paced, and as his irritation grew, he sped up, climbing and cascading down the stairs in a rush of black fabric. For once, little cared he of the sweat dripping off his brow. Or the stink that someone might notice, and wonder what he had been doing. Of course, everyone would assume it was something nefarious. When did a wizard need to exercise?

Besides, he was hardly as fat as Goyle or Crabbe. Perhaps they ought to take up Hippogryff wrestling. Better not to suggest that one, they might think him serious.

It was early still, the sun beating down on the top of the tower when Draco emerged, restless still, and cast about with his eyes - the cheerful sun and crisp wind at odds with his restless, shifting temper. And so he slammed the door as he strode inside, cascading down the stairs like a waterfall, channeling each touch into the next bounce. It was a trick he had picked up ages ago, and it did him good to keep in practice.

A fragment of a thought caught at him, and he spun, dancing up the stairs with a fury, the thought trying to evade him, to slip into the shadows. Draco didn't much mind. He had all day. It caught at him and he spun on the landing, as if chasing the snitch, this time his feet barely on the ground.

The words swirled around him, emerging reluctantly out of memory long buried, "If you can't tell what's broken, why - break it worse."

Draco sat, suddenly, his feet dangling off the edge of the landing, swinging as they had when he was a child. What did he know? Longbottom, perhaps, and other people - not behaving quite right. Well, if he were to think like Longbottom - and no, he didn't mean cowering - what did that really tell him? Longbottom, now rumored to have to defeat the Dark Lord?

Neville Longbottom would find a plan. Tactics, strategy - Draco liked those things. With a thin grin (only the Gryffindors mistook it for a smirk), Draco began to walk with a will, directing himself up to the top of the tower. He could see the greenhouses from there. And Neville Longbottom, it was widely known, was a master of plants.

Draco Malfoy knew he could never hope to defeat Lord Voldemort with plants - Merlin, even Prof. Sprout would have trouble with that assignment! Still, there were unplumbed possiblities here.

And Draco _hated_ unsolved puzzles.

[a/n: well, we've started plot. Sort of. Draco's significantly less mopey and more directed, at any rate. Read and Review, it really does encourage me to write this and not revise something else.]


	9. Puffs of Dust, Sneezes, & a Library Nook

Draco Malfoy wasn't nearly the Library Mouse that Granger was, but he knew his way around easily enough. The Herbology books were on the second floor - little used as they were, he ascended the ladder easily, wishing he was on his broom. But he had no time for such stray thoughts. The essentials of a plan were sizzling in his mind, like little rays of lighting fizzling and lighting anew.

He sent a practiced eye over the firstie books - he had them memorized, of course. The second year books were quite familiar to him, even the ones most considered only useful for extra credit. Extra advantage was the way the Slytherin mind bent, and he had read them cover to cover, even if Prof. Sprout knew nothing of it.

The third year books were passing strange, but mostly because he had been... preoccupied. If he didn't have this solved by summer, he'd lay whatever was bothering him aside and finish the year by being schooled in everything. His godfather and mother would help with that - Potions and Charms were his harder subjects, even if he generally did well at them.

He reached instead for the theoretical books, knowing that he needed to stretch out firm rootstock, in order to make this plan work. He couldn't leave anything to chance or error. Herbology was widely considered a duffer's subject, but Draco was about to make it his own.

[a/n: "break it worse" is a traditional engineering trick. Generally doesn't involve libraries.]


	10. Asphodel

Draco Malfoy frowned at the books strewn around him in neat piles. Oh, but they were positively everywhere. He really wasn't terribly good at Herbology. He'd even have considered enlisting a Hufflepuff (not Smith), if he could have justified what he was doing. As it was, this was the sort of scheme that one pulled off solo, or not at all. Draco's eyes hurt, these past three days had been reading, reading and nothing more than reading. Now, he had a list of half a hundred different plant... possibilities. He just had to weed out the ones he wanted.

There were times that he was thankful that he was a Slytherin, and this was one of them. Besides Pansy's sighing, and a game of chess that he had needed to dodge, nobody really cared that he wasn't being sociable. Although the exact nature of the plot he was hatching would have scared Zambini's eyes out of his sockets.

Still nothing from Crabbe and Goyle. Not that he had really expected it. Well, that wasn't strictly true - he had some juicy gossip about Charlie Weasley's nocturnal habits, and some more about how the Patil twins couldn't stand the sight of each other anymore - but twins often fought, and acted out - and they were in different houses for a reason.

Looking over his research, he considered - dewdrops were looking tempting, but a tangletree would certainly provide some strength, provided no one set it afire... Maybe a pitcher plant might do better - did anyone know about the weaknesses of the lady's slipper? They were deuced rare.

And could he get a Chinese Shrinking Violet? Or one of the American Orchids? Thinking these thoughts, Draco Malfoy drifted slowly to sleep in the library.

[a/n: short chappies till draco's done researching. I could lump them all together, but then you'd miss the time passing, amiright?]


	11. If anything will

Draco stood, his lean and lanky form stretching in the dark hollow of the library's mezzanine nook. He had checked over the plan, twice, three times. Slept on it, and again looked over the whole thing. He studied it again, now, trying to hide his nervousness - a Slytherin habit that he employed instinctively. No one should ever see a Slytherin indecisive. Hesitation was far worse than being wrong.

Draco Malfoy was very, very much aware this might not work. Oh, he had done his best, but Herbology wasn't his strongest subject. He wished he could ask Snape, or Sprout, or even Bones. Someone who could just look over it for him. But the only people he'd trust to keep their bloody mouths shut were Crabbe and Goyle, and they weren't prone to correcting him even if they did spot a mistake.

Draco stared sightlessly at the labyrinth on the page, mentally reviewing each tile, each plant, each tendril and thorn. Finally, he nodded crisply.

He had a Longbottom to hunt.

[a/n: You didn't think I'd leave you hanging, did you? Review more, and I'll write more. ]


	12. Greenhouses

Draco Malfoy smirked, as he lay in wait for Longbottom to appear. He had left Goyle and Crabbe inside, playing Wizarding Chess. Oh, that was a continual source of amusement. Half the time the two brutes couldn't remember the moves and needed to be reminded of them by the pieces! Still, they were _his_ lackeys, and he was sure they would _eventually_ learn the game.

Meeting Longbottom was a hell of a lot easier than meeting Potty would have been, that was certain. (Mental note: come up with a good nickname for Longbottom. Bottomlong has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Reference to his weight, too, at that.) Potty had lackeys, and the type that stuck with him wherever he went. Always in a crowd, that one. And it wasn't as if Potty would have actually accepted an invitation to talk, not like a person of _good_ breeding.** Draco would have had to force the issue, and probably at wandpoint at that (by which, Draco meant, if he didn't have his wand drawn, Potty would draw his, and then they'd simply _have_ to duel. Patience wasn't Potty's strongpoint.)

Here Malfoy was, sweating in the greenhouse. Well, he _would_ be sweating, except that he was cleverly stationed near one of the fans, designed to keep even magical mould off the tropical plants. Longbottom liked plants - that was about the first thing Draco had learned about the young Longbottom heir. Not that it was much of a surprise - the Longbottoms were famed for their greenhouses, which even the Dark Lord was said to have coveted. It was a mark in their favor, that they had resisted his pull, Draco Malfoy thought suddenly - it couldn't have been easy. Strength of will ran in the family, apparently. Well, when Neville remembered he was a lion and not a lamb, at any rate. Which he wasn't doing a lot of lately...

Draco Malfoy's eyes narrowed, as he again contemplated the mystery that seemed to suffuse the school - almost not there, in its ephemeralness, but unctuous, like a film of oil on everything. Making everything black rainbows.***

Draco heard distinct, galumphing footsteps. That had to be Bottomlong, his heavy steps on the stone pavers. Draco hastened to where he intended to meet Longbottom, sitting silently and in perfect stillness on a bench often used for repotting. It was a trick he had picked up from his godfather, and he intended to use it to good effect.

Fortunately, Bottomlong didn't notice him - too busy thinking about the Calendula he wanted to primp, no doubt. As Bottomlong passed, Draco Malfoy stood suddenly - making certain he was just in Bottomlong's peripheral vision.

There. Neville Longbottom jumped for the sky, spinning around - and had his wand trained on Draco Malfoy, despite his ungainly reaction. He _has_ combat instincts, Draco thought, so _why_ isn't he using them? The pose lasted only a few seconds, barely time for an indrawn breath to whoosh out slowly. Then, unbelievably, Neville Longbottom dropped his wand, and tried to grab for it, sending it end over end past Draco's shoulder.

Draco Malfoy, using a supreme act of willpower, elected _not_ to comment on such displays of clumsiness, "Mister Longbottom. I wonder if you could spare me a moment of your time?"

"W-what? What do _you_ want? I mean, with _me_?" Bottomlong half stammered half spat. It was clear he was trying for angry, but it wasn't really working, as the cowardly approach to anger was to bite those smaller than you - and apparently Malfoy rated as at least equal.

"You're the new boy-who-lived, right?"

"I... I guess so, that's what Headmaster Dumbledore thinks, anyway... I dunno, really." Bottomlong was rubbing the back of his head, and credibly managing to make it seem like he wasn't feeling completely naked without his wand. Perhaps that was just a pose to suggest that he wasn't more formidable with a wand than without. Seeing as how Bottomlong was still ten stones heavier than Malfoy, Draco'd put some money on Neville being able to take him in a Muggle fight.

"That means its your job to fight ... You Know Who." Draco Malfoy said meaningfully, wondering what exactly this inquisition was giving him. Lots of reactions, sure, but mostly it was adding up to "Neville is a horrible actor" which, bloody bleedin' hell, he already _knew_.

"So they say."

"Here. If you're half the Herbology genius Prof. Sprout always says you are, this'll at least keep the Death Eaters out of your way."

And, so help Draco if he lied, Neville Longbottom's hand twitched towards the paper. And then, Bottomlong caught himself, shaking his head, and backing away. "I don't want to fight... don't make me fight...why do you even _care_ anyway?" And Draco turned on his heel and left Neville standing there staring after him.

That last question would haunt Draco the rest of the night. But it was certainly clear - Neville had been given instructions to act this pathetic. He wasn't, and particularly not at Herbology. Oh, even if he couldn't have done half of what Draco had put together - he was at least interested. Anyone would be, with a puzzle that they _knew_ they'd be good at.

So, thought Draco, looking up at his bedcurtains. Put the pieces together. They don't want Neville being the new stand-in for Potty. Why? Stands to reason, Draco thought, that they want someone else. Or... maybe not. No one else was stepping forward (and nearly anyone could, barring Granger and Weasley, who were too sodden in tears to do _anything_ useful right now.). Draco frowned, considering. Someone was setting up a power vacuum on Dumbledore's side. Perhaps Dumbledore himself.

Was he trying to see who would step up?

And so help him, Draco Malfoy's Slytherin side stirred, wondering what greater ambition than being the leader of the winning side of a war would there be?**** Draco smiled wryly, and thought with more of a genuine smile, "Why, I do believe Father would _kill_ me."

**Malfoy deludes himself into thinking he'd have accepted, if Potter asked. He wouldn't, but self-delusions are tricky little lies.

*** Um. You have seen a thin puddle of oil? It makes rainbows on asphalt.

****Malfoys, apparently, are arrogant enough to think that they'd win the war, whichever side they're on.

[a/n: write a review, please? Draco is _finally_ taking a step towards figuring out what's going on.

Neville is going to be feeling entirely guilty about refusing Draco's... offer? And there's really no reason for it. Not that Draco is going to pay attention enough to realize it.]


	13. One Ear Pricked

Over the next week, Draco paid firm attention to everything. Better, he had Crabbe and Goyle pay attention to everything. You wouldn't believe what people would let slip, under the firm delusion that the two "dunderheads" were complete idiots. They weren't. But, unlike Draco, they didn't have to be good at everything, so generally preferred to go unnoticed. However, being rather big lunkheaded creatures, they were generally unable to make that happen (even in Magical Creatures, where Hagrid was bigger than they were), so they often settled for just looking like complete idiots.

Really, anyone paying attention could see that they were passing Snape's course, and if that wasn't an endorsement that they had at least a wit between them, what could _possibly_ change your mind?

Draco's observations had one sole goal: "Who was in on it?"

His collected observations stood thus:

Snape continued to insult Bottomlong at all opportunities. This, however, wasn't new. It also wasn't something definitive, one way or another.

Sprout continued to have nothing... horrible... to say about Bottomlong, but his skills were noticeably flagging - and here, she did something interesting. Instead of trying to encourage her former best student, she covered him in hugs, telling him that it was alright if he couldn't pot the tentacula.

McGonagall was her usual exasperated self, curt and not terribly kind. Draco thought she was just acting normal, as did Crabbe, but Greg thought otherwise. "She smiles more around Granger and the Weasley brat. Makes a different contrast, it does." _And if that didn't show you that Greg's a bit subtler than his weight makes him seem.._

Flitwick was his usual genial self, but he seemed pretty forthright in expressing his disappointment in Bottomlong.

None of them so much as breathed a word about the boy who lived.

Which, of course, was perfectly alright, as Headmaster Dumbledore did enough of that, _constantly_ , to put it on everyone's mind.

Draco found himself suddenly wondering why he was the only one bothered by all this. Was _everyone_ in on it? No, he thought crossly. Certainly not the Gryffindors - particularly Potter's friends.

Was this a trap, then? Meant to catch him? They'd have to be crazy if they thought _Draco_ would plan to beat Voldemort! Draco shook his head, thinking, _I think I've stumbled into a trap for someone else. But who?_

[a/n: bouncing down the yellow brick road!]


	14. All Soul's Day

Halloween had come and gone (With the chaos, and the Great Hall feast, and Draco entirely too distracted by watching Neville see how much of a fool he could be. Did he actually try to faceplant into the soup? Was that intentional? Draco was pretty sure it was.), and now the time turned to All Souls' Day.

Draco Malfoy's mother had come to Hogwarts. He had stood with Professor Snape until she had reached the dungeon corridor where his room was. With a graceful bow, he thanked Professor Snape, and his mother greeted her friend with a smile. "I hope he hasn't been too much trouble?" She said with a toss of her head. Professor Snape's dark eyes rested on Malfoy a moment too long, and then he smiled without showing any teeth. "No, I daresay that hasn't been a problem of late." Draco Malfoy wanted to whip his head around, to see what possible expression Snape had on his face for that comment. Instead, he rounded himself beside Narcissa slowly and gracefully, losing the glimpse of Snape's expression to preserve his dignity.

"I imagine it's been rough, what with losing the Potter boy and all." Narcissa Malfoy wore a bland smile, and Snape simply nodded, "The Gryffindors are taking it hardest, of course." Snape then gave a languid shrug, "I have high hopes for Slytherin winning the Cup this year. As reckless as that boy could be, he somehow always found the snitch." Draco Malfoy fought to keep his eyes from going wide. Snape never called Potter anything other than his last name (occasionally with a Mister attached, when Snape was in an especially vindictive - that is to say good- mood).

"We'll be taking our leave now. Expect us back before dusk." Narcissa said with a demure curtsey - careful not to dip too low.

"As always, it was a pleasure." Snape said with a ghost of a smile. "Take care, and gods speed to you both." Draco Malfoy bowed deeply to his head of House, before strolling along behind his mother.

Truth be told, he didn't want to go. He _never_ wanted to go. He envied Neville in a way - his parents were well-cared for (Draco Malfoy had seen them once, when his father had donated enough to the hospital to be afforded a tour of all the wards. They seemed, gone, for lack of a better word. Dimwitted, lost.). Not so, his mother's kin.

Narcissa used the floo in the Slytherin Common Room - a few people looked up, but most hid their gaze. _Everyone_ knew where they were going, and few wanted to think about it at all.

In moments, they both stood in a seaside port, up at the north of Scotland near the Hebrides. Draco Malfoy hid his shiver, as Narcissa Malfoy bustled him onto a thin skiff. Ice, he thought, as he conjured the walls around his heart. I will go and I will return, so must it be. Grim certainty was the only thing that had ever held him together through this. His mother passed the boatmen a passel of gold, and they began to row, singing a shanty that echoed with grimness out into the ocean blue.

 _"Oh, have you heard the news, me Johnny_  
 _One more day_  
 _We're homeward bound tomorrow_  
 _One more day_  
 _Only one more day, me Johnny_  
 _One more day_  
 _Oh, rock and roll me over_  
 _One more day"_

But today, Draco Malfoy thought, his eyes resting on the horizon - with that grim certainty warding his heart - expecting the fortress to rise out of the sea, we sail for Azkaban. And a grimmer and more desolate place there's never been.

Slowly, as the men rowed and sang gay tunes, the fortress reared above the water, from top to bottom. Draco did not question, merely endured. There was only one way through Azkaban sane, and that was to be resolute, robust, obdurate. Students at Hogwarts (not Slytherins) saw him afters, and they often wondered what had put him in such a ... cold mood. But it wasn't cold, exactly. Merely the refusal to be affected in any way.

[a/n: Yearly visits. To see his family's shame, with the Aurors gloating all the whiles.]


	15. Screams in the Night

Draco Malfoy walked a half step behind his mother, as the guards led them into the bowels of the Prison. His mother's Patronus, a lithe silver fox, leapt around them, cavorting in pleasure as it accomplished its duty. Narcissa Malfoy was a pillar of strength, her visage firm and cold - only her son noticed the shaking of her wrists, the slightly too stiff posture. Draco knew his mother hated coming here, that it was duty more than affection that had her witnessing her family's shame.

About two thirds of the way down, the screaming started. Prisoners lunging at the bars, screaming, throwing limbs out frantically, trying to get their attention. _We aren't here for you._ Draco thought, as his unfaltering footsteps continued. Stone and ice, determination and persistence both, Draco thought, feeling the chill like a mountain would. Icy fear would not hurt a mountain, and neither would it hurt him. Draco Malfoy strode with the confidence of someone who's trod here often.

Another floor, and the stones wept blood. The prisoners here would lunge at them, wedging themselves in the bars, pushing so hard that they bled. Draco Malfoy never turned, never looked at the waving arms, the breast stuck in the jailbars. To look would be to suggest caring, and caring was something Draco Malfoy could not afford.

Another floor deeper, the final floor. Reserved for mass murderers, there were dozens of Death Eaters here. Some (like Bones, and the Aurors) would say that this was just punishment. Draco Malfoy could only disagree in his mind, he was far too canny to say a thing aloud. Besides, his father worked for these people's freedom, in the Ministry itself. What more could Draco do?

They stood in front of Narcissa's sister's cell. Bellatrix Black was dressed in widow's weeds, her hair lanky and stringy, greasy too. Her clothes were in tatters, though even in tatters, and emacidated, she had the quiet, graceful strength that kept her alive here, through a dozen long years. And her eyes sparkled with madness. She looked at Draco, not seeing her nephew, just a free child - someone to be beckoned close, then clutched at, held with her long nails at his throat until she was free from prison. A mad plan, too risky to actually succeed. From the twitching of her clawlike hands, Draco knew that she'd try it, if she could just lure him near.

Narcissa sought to distract her sister with pleasantries, the sham of which twisted her words from those of comfort to rough mocking. And even as she talked, Bellatrix had eyes only for young Draco, her crooning voice turning towards him, trying to engage him. _A mountain does not go to Merlin._ Draco thinks, and even through his confidence, the wreck of a human touches his heart. He hates to come here, knows his mother does too. It's never the Dementors that Draco Malfoy fears - it's the madness. It's the sudden, heartwrenching lack of dignity, lack of anything except desperation. Bellatrix resembles a cornered, starving rat - the type that would as soon eat your face with you still alive, screaming in pain. She'd exult at the suffering. Draco Malfoy loathed her, loathed the beast she had turned into.

When he was very young, he had asked his Mother to tell him about what her childhood was like. Now, he regretted it, as he could easily detect the shattered remnants of a headstrong girl, in this beautiful wretch.

His mother was done talking (Draco had not said a word), and they both turned to head to their next destination.

Sirius Black. The rake of the family, a man with a big laugh, and a crueler wit than most Slytherins. Every time Draco Malfoy saw Sirus Black, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd wind up here himself, be that lost, twisted thing, clinging to life with a stubborn persistence - beyond hope, beyond glee, beyond even simple calm. The Dementors had stolen nearly all of Sirius' mind, his eyes were wild and ferocious at the same time.

They drew near Sirius' cell, Draco with his eyes glued to the floor, not wanting to spend a second more in the man's presence than he must. His mother's sharp inhale (nearly a gasp) draws his attention up, and he sees her fingers to her mouth, her other hand whiteknuckled around her wand.

Inside Sirius Black's cell, there is no one.

Tumult everywhere, as the Aurors sound the alarm. Somehow, they think that he might have just gotten free. Inside the resolute fortress of his mind, Draco Malfoy's noticed the bare chamberpot, and the water bucket that's nearly overflowing. He is unsurprised when they do not find Sirius Black, and more unsurprised when a contingent of Aurors accompanies them back, "Just In Case." Always the suspicion, on everyone's face. They weren't even there when he escaped, hadn't been for an entire year, but... the Aurors wouldn't admit that they had flubbed the lock, that somehow the gaunt, broad-shouldered man had managed to escape without even bending a bar.

As the fortress faded into the sea, into the growing twilight, the sailors sang a jaunty tune that jangled Draco Malfoy's heart, slowly peeling away the layers he had built to keep himself sane.

" _Then at last our captain comes on board_  
 _Our sails are bent, we're manned and stored_  
 _The Peter's hoisted at the fore_  
 _Good-bye to the girls we'll see no more_  
 _For we know we're homeward bound_  
 _Hurrah, we're homeward bound_ "

[a/n: Draco Malfoy's really not letting himself care about what's happened. Reaction will set in when he's back at Hogwarts. Leave a review!]


	16. Comfortably Numb

Draco Malfoy went through the next three days in a sort of daze, with Pansy helping him get to his classes, and a well placed (by which Draco meant done earlier) bribe to Theo Nott got him homework done, and in his own hand. Luckily, when he came out of the daze (which happened slowly, as it always did), he realized that he wouldn't have missed as much as he thought. After all, he had Greg and Vince to watch his back.

Something was bothering Draco - well, other than the 'mysterious disappearance' of Cousin Sirius Black. Hm. Come to think of it, Draco Malfoy thought, I should think about that some more. If it was a jailbreak, then the question was how, and why, and, most importantly, why now?

There were three potential options:

First, Cousin Black had gotten out of his own power. That bifurcated, into 'he could always leave' or 'he just completed the tunnel out'. Either was implausible, although the first - well, even his own mother wouldn't have put Sirius Black into the 'sane' category before he entered the Prison where Happiness Died. As to the second, Draco hadn't seen the scent of purpose on him, nothing of determination, nothing of even the faintest sort of rude villainous** intelligence. If it was a ruse, it was one that had managed to fool Draco's own mother, who had known Sirius as a child. She had always described him as headstrong, reckless, and fairly foolhardy - if someone you generally wanted on your side in the fight, if only because he'd take the blows for you (Rather like Greg in that regard).

Second, this was some _family_ scheme. Narcissa Black-Malfoy was the sole remaining free member of her family in England, and Lucius Malfoy might have been moved to rescue one of her cousins. There were quite a few problems with this notion. First, Narcissa Malfoy had never seemed to fond of either of the inmates, and were Lucius the type to make unprompted gifts, he would have undoubtedly turned to her sister rather than her cousin. They had both been famed duelists, before - and Draco Malfoy didn't see any other reason that they'd have merely freed one. Freeing both would do wonders for the family honor - if they were freed legally. But, as this was an extralegal escape, it merely meant a lot of headaches for the Malfoy Clan, who would be under immediate suspicion.

Draco frowned, putting in a codicil, Perhaps someone was trying to upset the Malfoy's current balance of power, which, of course, tilted in their favor? Still, it was an odd choice - too daring for a Slytherin, and too sneaky for a Gryffindor. Draco Malfoy rather suspected it would have to be a Ravenclaw, to have pulled it off under so many noses.

Third, this was the act of the Dark Lord, heretofore considered dead. Draco couldn't think that there was anyone else, who would pull Sirius Black out of prison. His skills were undoubtedly deteriorated, and the only possible thing he could outrank the free in, was loyalty to the Dark Lord. Draco Malfoy considered this option with a frown. Lucius Malfoy had taken over the purebred standard, after the Dark Lord had fallen*** - perhaps the Lord Voldemort would not be pleased with the changes. Certainly, the whole movement had acquired a bit more culture, an aesthetic that drew more people to it, at the expense of a slower implementation of policies.

**Draco's using this word in the older sense, along with using rude as a synonym.

***Draco's not aware that his father was a Death Eater. Yes, people have been throwing that as an insult around. Court documents were sealed (The Weasleys don't care about shite like that), and his parents weren't terribly communicative.

[a/n: To the confused reader, it's November 5th. As to the timeskip, that's my doing. Future editing will have the entire school given about a month off because of Potter's death, which will pull the whole "Draco is figuring this out in a matter of weeks, not months" immediacy to the fore.

If you're confused as to which year this is, it's 3rd year.

Write a review.]


	17. Potions

Two days later, Draco was _finally_ beginning to feel warm again (He had even smiled at Greg when he fell on his rump down the stairs in a hilarious pratfall), which of course meant that it was time for Potions Class, held in the creepiest, coldest room in the dungeons. (He was privately convinced Snape had done something to get the class moved to that particular classroom. Perhaps he had simply annoyed Dumbledore one time too many.) Oh, and one could never forget the Gryffindors.

Still, it was not for nothing that Draco Malfoy counted this his favorite class. He was both good at it, and well, Prof. Snape was nicer to his Slytherins than to everyone else - at least in public. Not one Slytherin, or any student really, ever dared call him soft. It was simply unthinkable.

Two thirds of the way through the class, when Draco had all of his ingredients snipped and ground and measured, and was spinning the rod slowly while counting the stirs, there was a sudden explosion from the back of the classroom. Bottomlong and right on schedule too.

Knowing the potion rather better than anyone else in class (except perhaps Granger, who never bothered to look up what could go wrong, Miss Perfect herself), Draco Malfoy hit the floor, all thoughts of having a perfect potion cancelled.

Draco heard the explosion reverberating around the room, but he didn't hear any screams. Cautiously, he got to his feet. Bottomlong was encased in a shield spell, and Prof. Snape was stalking over to him. _Bottomlong looks atrocious. His clothes are dropping off him in shreds, and his skin is half doing the same thing._

Prof Snape hissed, in that peculiar carrying tone, "Mr. Longbottom, your potion skills are atrocious. Surely you must have some concept of how arrogant you are, to think that you might be able to perfect this potion during my valuable classtime? You're more arrogant than Potter, and that's quite an achievement." Prof. Snape finished that with a sneer - and Draco entirely lost track of what Prof. Snape said after that.

In fact, his vision had gone quite white. Draco Malfoy thought, and thought hard. Because he knew his godfather, and his godfather wouldn't have referenced Potter if he was dead. No, he wouldn't. Contrary to common belief, Draco Malfoy knew that his godfather took his students' deaths hard. There hadn't been any in his potions lab, of course, he was far too watchful for that. But there had been a few instances of children harming children - sometimes in rage, sometimes in true despair. Draco Malfoy remembered, listening on the edge of the room (looking out around the doorframe), Prof. Snape yelling, screaming - and Lucius Malfoy, who never let anyone scream around him, just letting him get it all out.

No, Potter wasn't dead.

Draco Malfoy didn't do a single thing right for the rest of the potions class, however, that put him slightly above Greg and Vince, who never did a thing right from the start to the end of class, so he escaped immediate detention. He hoped his godfather wouldn't call him on his inattention, but, Draco had to think - what in the blue blazes did this mean?

[a/n: write a review? I wasn't seriously going to make a story without Harry in it.]


	18. I contain multitudes

Draco Malfoy ran through the halls of Hogwarts, his broom clutched in his hand. You weren't allowed to run in the hallways, of course, but that was mainly a rule to prevent 7th years from running over firsties. So long as he stuck to sidepassages and disused corridors, he was perfectly alright. The only Professor who patrolled those was Snape (Filch cleaned, but did so generally after hours - the better to find stupid sneaking students).

Had the Troublesome Twins seen him, they might have remarked at his haste, or at his uncharacteristic solitude. His attitude would have seemed normal, at any rate - he was pretty much always standoffish, even to Slytherins. Few would notice the simple words he gave to the Slytherin firsties - particularly as he often managed to whisper them when the Common Room was nearly empty.

Outside the castle, Draco Malfoy jumped on his broom, "Up Up" he thought, streaking through the sky like a stunner in flight. He pulled up at the height of the Astronomy tower, scaring a few children who were not expecting a third year to be witness to their assignations. Not that he'd tell, of course.

Slowly, he let himself flow into the forms of a Seeker, the barrel rolls and loop-de-loops. They had been practiced so long that they were nearly instinctive. He dodged between the towers of Hogwarts (mostly avoiding Gryffindor tower, he didn't want to be accused of spying). He always thought best when he was on a broom, anyway.

And thinking would be a good idea right now, Draco Malfoy thought with some chagrin, struggling to pull back in his scattered thoughts; they seemed fit to fly away at the slightest motion from him. What stuck with him were emotions. Rather a lot of emotions at that. He, well, to be frank, wasn't sure what he was feeling about the concept of Harry Potter being alive. Was he furious? Outraged? Excited? Joyous? It seemed like he was all of those, and quite a few more. He continued to dance through the sky, letting his emotions take physical form in the steep banks and fast turns that he was used to.

Hours later, he found that his mind had stilled, that all the emotions had been washed away - along with the sweat dripping out of his eyes. All that was left was a burning curiosity.

[a/n: You try being told that your chief rival, who you had thought dead, was actually alive. And Draco's pretty sure there's some vast scheme going on, that he hasn't even begun to unravel. Yeah, you're good if you feel betrayed and elated, mournful and incensed at once.

Leave a review! (And I'm grateful no one's cussing about me spending 10,000 words of a Harry Potter story without Harry Potter. Gonna be a bit longer before he shows up, too).]


	19. Alight on the Tower

Draco Malfoy landed lightly on top of the Astronomy Tower, glad that for once there weren't piles of older students snogging in corners. He sat crosslegged, in the lotus position, his broom on his lap, and closed his eyes.

 _Harry Potter was dead. Except he's not. Think simply, what does that mean?_

Draco's head tilted slightly, his hair falling away from his face as gravity drew it downward.

 _First, Harry Potter wasn't where he needed to be._ That thought fell away from Draco's mind, as he mentally shook himself.

 _Why is he so important?_ Draco tried to quash the sudden stab of jealousy. **_The boy who lived._** Draco shook his head again, _No, that's not right. Nobody does this for a child who hasn't done a damn thing for the past dozen years or so._ Draco decided to think about that later.

 _So what's so bloody special about Harry Potter?_ Draco said, suppressing a deep shiver that wasn't from the stiff breeze. _Voldemort - the name people dared not even whisper. Did they want Princess Pot to go hunt for Dark Wizards?_

Draco Malfoy shook his head, scoffing at himself. _Lot of effort to do that, particularly now. No, if there's a Dark Wizard to hunt, he's here, now._ Draco blinked, taking a minute to think through what he had just said.

 _Here._ Draco thought, seizing on the scrap of a thought. _Harry Potter isn't off training, and he's not... I don't think... going away for good. No, it's here. Whatever the thing that's going on. Because if it wasn't here, they could just hide the boy._

Draco shook his head, astounded at the preposterous farce that ... _Snape? Of all the people..._ had perpetrated. Draco thought again - _no, that doesn't make sense. Snape wouldn't do it this way. It wouldn't work_ , Draco was positively certain, _but even if it did - Snape would have found a subtler way to pull it off. This lacked finesse. And Snape despised brutish, robust, inelegant solutions._

In fact, this reeked of a particular brand of madness practiced by the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Albus Dumbledore himself. The thought made Draco frown pensively.

[a/n: Leave a review! Yes, Draco's got things to think about. I'm tempted to lead him on a goose chase, but he's wily enough to _notice_.]


	20. He who twitches the strings

Draco walked down the stairs, each one a different thought. _Was this my father's doing?_ Draco asked, letting his half-made skien fall, and plucking it up by different threads. No, he shook his head. Father might be able to twist Snape into doing this (all the better for a chance to be rid of Potter for... how long exactly?), but... no, no, no. Never, not in a million years, could Lucius Malfoy manage to get Neville Longbottom to do what he's been doing. Neville would look with blank incomprehension, and simply ask "Why?" And none of Lucius' schemes, machinations or sleights of hand could make Neville do what he thought was wrong. And ... this is something that Longbottom would have thought wrong. Draco was nearly certain. Taking fleeting... hope? confidence? away from people who had very little to begin with, after Potter's "death."

Draco was absolutely certain he was missing a key piece of the puzzle. Why Longbottom, the "almost boy who lived"? That... that pointed back to that night, the night when Potter's family died. When Draco's mad aunt (less mad then) had Crucioed Longbottom's Parents. These... they had to be connected. And the connection was the Dark Lord.

Draco stopped, his foot dangling over another stair. He didn't want to make the next step, think the next thought. He knew, somewhere deep in himself, that the next step would be irrevocable.

He made it anyway. Only fools thought Slytherins lacked courage. Hadn't Granger proved that even Gryffindors could be cunning when needed?

Harry Potter was going to fight the Dark Lord. He who should not be named.

Draco looked blindly around the spiral staircase. Why had they not wanted a Gryffindor for the job? Wasn't that practically the calling of their entire House?

[a/n: sorry these are so short. Leave a review, whether you like it or not!]


	21. Think it through slowly

Draco shook his head, and thought crossly to himself. Don't think about the impossibilities. Focus on what's right in front of your nose. And he did, striding off towards the Great Hall for breakfast. There was Ron Weasley, stumbling in late as usual - but he had often been late even before... Potter... Draco found himself not wanting to finish the sentence, to leave it hanging, open like a loose thread, begging to be pulled on.

Draco seated himself in his usual place at the Slytherin table. Now that Harry Potter wasn't there to glare at (and now that Draco wasn't in first year, to be honest), Draco seated himself regally at the head of the Slytherin table, asserting without a word his natural supremacy. Looking down the lines of neatly pressed students, Draco couldn't help but shoot them a smirk. Not even Albus Dumbledore himself - the king of daft and almost dotty ideas - would think of putting Harry Potter in Slytherin. He'd be spotted the moment he'd enter the Common Room - and even if, by some chance (Snape was involved, after all), he wasn't - he wouldn't last a week. Draco well knew that the Gryffindors wanted to think of Slytherins as absolute cowards - but cowardice was never a Slytherin vice - or virtue. Now, ambition, the ability to stab even your best mate in the back - now that was a Slytherin virtue and vice. Harry Potter was too trusting, and not nearly cynical enough for Slytherin.

Draco looked on as the Ravenclaws neatly entered the Great Hall, frowning slightly as Luna Lovegood shot him a delighted smile. What was that girl up to, anyway? What Is Her Game? Trying to imagine Harry Potter amongst the Ravenclaws was nearly as odd as him in Slytherin. The Ravenclaws would as soon discuss the finer points of Beowulf than Quiddich, it was why their team was so slovenly most years. Cho was a decent Seeker, but that was more for love of air than of the game.

Draco blinked, as the Hufflepuffs tumbled into the Great Hall, resembling the piles of puppies that his father's best bitch had born for years. Friendly, and eager, and nice. Friendship, of all things. Draco snorted in amusement. And yet... somehow it would fit, that Albus Dumbledore would put Harry Potter into House Hufflepuff. For as many times as Draco had made fun of Hufflepuff as a house of losers - it wasn't really true. Oh, sure, most of them were far more likely to be small businessmen than working at the Ministry - but every Slytherin knew how to get a Hufflepuff in his pocket - and a Hufflepuff's loyalty was nothing to be sneezed at.

[a/n: Yes, yes, I wish it was longer too. Leave a review!]


	22. Now, we interrupt

Draco Malfoy found the rest of his day absorbed by class. In fact, he belatedly discovered that he had a good deal of homework that he'd been... postponing. So, despite the weighty and important ideas very much interested in trammeling his head, he laid them aside and got to work. To be more accurate, he stuffed them into a nice box at the bottom of his mind (tying it shut with strong metal chains), and tried to ignore the box's insistent rattling.

After all, you didn't mess around in potions class. Not if you valued your life, after all. In potions class, even pranks and underhanded accidents were done with a precision that would astound most of the Gryffindors (not Granger, of course). Draco Malfoy _loved_ Potions Class, and not just because his godfather was teaching.

Today, the poisonous potion on topic seemed to get even Granger and Weasley paying attention, finally. No, Draco relented, they were always more attentive in potions class. Somehow, even the pain and suffering of Potter's 'death' receded in the class, and Draco didn't for one hot minute believe it was because of his godfather's teaching skills. Or lack thereof. No, it was the pure and simple fear of death that motivated - well, everyone except for Bottomlong. With him in the class, it was a miracle that they'd even survive a day, let alone seven years.

Stir, chop, swirl, dice, Draco thought, his mind focused on the mindnumbingly repetitious tasks. Draco didn't have room for anything but criss-cross, squirt, pummel and stir!

[a/n: Yes, Draco does have classes. Yes, he does do his homework. Leave a review!]


	23. What to do?

Draco Malfoy curled up inside the drapes of his bed, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep. Sadly, sleep seemed as fleeting as a restful thought, darting and twisting just outside his reach, like a tuft of thistledown.

Draco Malfoy stood, suddenly not caring what his dormmates thought of his wakefulness (this was normal). In fact, Draco Malfoy was momentarily baffled to discover that he didn't care what his Head of House thought of his sleepless night (this was _not_ normal), and, so motivated, actually exited the room and headed down to the Common Room.

Once there, he lay, head reclining back in the black leather sofa, staring up at the porthole into the Black Lake. Apparently the Squid was also having trouble sleeping. Did Squid sleep? Draco Malfoy was somehow sure Granger would know, and equally certain that he'd never ask. Perhaps he might manage to tweak her nose enough to get her to share - unasked, of course.

The next morning saw him without a blink of sleep, his eyes looking sunken within a pasty face, deep dark bags underneath his eyes. If the Gryffindors could be bothered to look in his general direction, they'd be whispering.

As it was, they were too busy either

1) Eating as if Doomsday were tommorrow (weasley)

2) Studying intermittently, as if she'd already read everything (Hermione).

Draco couldn't wait for classes to be over.

* * *

Through the day, classes tried to impinge on Draco's restless nature - McGonagall called him out for squirming in class, for Merlin's Sake!

Malfoys did not squirm (he thought, hearing it in his father's impeccable elocution). Still, when even the dotty Arithmancy teacher asked him a question, and for once he didn't know the answer (to be fair, Granger didn't either, judging by her staring at him speechlessly*). Draco briefly considered trying to claim sickness to get out of Herbology, but then Cho was there, and he knew that if he didn't look sick enough to throw Cho off, she'd insist on telling, and Professor Sprout would find work for him that would be decidedly unpleasant in detention. Rumor had it that her husband was killed by Death Eaters - years and years ago, but Rumor also had it that she never forgot a grudge. Either it was true, or it wasn't, but Draco didn't want to find out.

* * *

After class it was time for Quiddich, except that Draco Malfoy wasn't really in the mood for Quiddich. Still, that was the best part about being a Seeker. When they weren't doing Seeker-related drills, you weren't really required to do anything except stay in the air. Well, technically, you were supposed to be looking for the Snitch, but since Draco caught it so rarely, he could skive off without anyone really noticing - or caring.

A distressing thought had rather blindsided Draco early in the day. He had thought of all the ways that it would be advantageous to Potter to be in a different house - but what if that wasn't what they were looking for? What if all they wanted was to _hide_ him? What if the ... was looking for him? Wanted to do him harm? _Everyone_ knew the last place to look for goody-two-shoes was Slytherin. They were practically famous for skullduggery, and nevermind that the last three Dark Lords before this one had been Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw. (It was widely understood that a Gryffindor would be unable to actually run anything - that was why Arthur had lost his round table, after all. No one would take a Gryffindor Dark Lord seriously... which probably meant he should watch Granger closely for dark delusions).

Draco Malfoy's brain had wanted to split in two at that point. His childlike self had wanted to insist, "No way would my godfather EVER let potter in his house! He _hates_ him!"

His more sober, adult - rational - brain had responded back, "Oh, you think? Hasn't he always been complaining about no one daring to discipline the Chosen One? Tell me you can't see his cruel, toothy smile. Particularly if no one's going to acknowledge that Potter's the famous one. Because then no **Special Treatment**."

When you put it that way, Draco actually nearly saw the appeal (other than having to share a room with the obnoxious brat). Well, except for the obvious. Potter couldn't pull off being in Slytherin even if he tried. They'd eat him alive.

Draco pushed himself into a skreetching dive, howling in glee as if he had really caught sight of the Snitch. He passed dangerously near one of the Chasers, who cursed, and the Captain, who swerved wildly to get out of Draco's way. He turned the dive into a steep climb, pushing the limits of the broom until it nearly broke from the gees.

Draco Malfoy lost himself in thought, staring up at the clouds (even as his team cursed him far below - it had become increasingly apparent that Draco wasn't practicing, as he was well above regulation height). _I could do it..._ Draco thought, his eyes taking on a maniacal gleam. I could be the person everyone looked to. They left a power vacuum - that could be me, riding on everyone's shoulders. Being the hero. Never having to be in the shadow again.

Oh, sure, everyone knew who Draco Malfoy was... but that was as part of a Powerful Family, not known as himself. Nobody cared about Draco Malfoy as a person,he was pretty sure. His friends wanted to be known as friends of the Family, and not of Draco.

It would be weird, he thought, to see people look at me, and see what I've done, not what my Father has done lately. To see respect in everyone's eyes, for having done what was accounted to be a very good thing indeed.

Draco Malfoy shook his head, letting all those dreams fall to the ground, shattering on impact. There was one significant problem with all of this - he really wasn't sure he could pull it off. Oh, accumulating power was easy - but fighting a Dark Lord? There had to be some reason they were lavishing this much energy on Potter, wasn't there? It wasn't just "Dumbledore Likes Him", was it? The alta kocher wasn't that daft, was he?

Draco Malfoy let himself float in space, for a moment letting everything go blank. What if he just did nothing? Let this play out exactly as people wanted it to?

Draco Malfoy shook his head, letting out a keening laugh. No, where was the fun in that? Oh, sure he could tell his father about this plan... but then it wouldn't be his. His to break. His to save. His to laugh at, if need be.

No, Draco Malfoy was not the type to sit around while others wove plans around him. Draco wanted _in_.

Lucky, then, wasn't it, that Potter was destined to be a Hufflepuff? With a wry smile on his face, Draco Malfoy stepped to the ground, walking off from a half-done practice, as if there was nothing wrong with leaving halfway early.

*No, Draco, that's not why she wasn't being a knowitall.

[a/n: School interrupts all the good plots. Leave a review, folks!]


	24. Life's Never Easy

The next morning it happened, and Draco Malfoy was caught decidedly unprepared.

The papers read, "Black Escapes from Azkaban!"

...but that wasn't all they read. The speculation (caused by an especially observant prison guard), was that he was headed to Hogwarts. Apparently his dear, deranged cousin had been repeating, "He's at Hogwarts" over and over again after the Minister had come to visit.

Of course, anyone who knew a jot about lineages was looking at Draco Malfoy. Draco, himself, fought to keep his expressionvague and disinerested. He really just wanted to crawl under the table. Why? Why was this happening?

And then, just as suddenly as anything, Draco wondered if this was how Potter had felt when the entire school had discovered he was a parselmouth. In some ways, that'd been worse, hadn't it? To go from the Chosen One to the Spawn of the Dark Lord (or whatever the rumors had said, Draco hadn't listened except to contribute to the fracas).

So, apparently, Sirius Black was after Draco Malfoy. If you believed the papers.

Draco?

Draco wasn't quite sure what to believe. His father owned the papers - but his father also knew what he felt about dementors (it was why his father never came to visit Azkaban if he could possibly slink his way out).

There were dementors around the school - and Hogwarts itself was crawling with Aurors. At the look of the one they called Mad Eye Moody, Draco hoped that he was at least gone before Potter got back.

How hard was it to catch an escaped fugitive? Particularly Black, who was both noticeable in his ratty tatty demeanor and garb - and not known for being patient in the best of times. (Draco's mother had mentioned him a few times when Draco had asked to hear tales of the Black household. They weren't always uncomplimentary mentions, either).

His Slytherins were sympathetic, but when Draco quietly had shown up to talk with his Head of House, Snape had simply snorted, "There's no way Black's after you."

Draco rocked back on his heels, halfway up to the Astronomy Tower, again. Was it possible that Black was after Potter? If so, what could Draco do about it? Set a trap? Find a way to impersonate Potter? How, exactly, was Black managing to avoid detection, anyway?

[a/n: yes, truth eventually will out.

Write a review?]


	25. Sun or Moon

It was a few days later - even the Slytherins had half started avoiding Draco, and even though his father was a powerful man, there was little that his influence could do about it. Draco Malfoy was walking the upper floors of Hogwarts, when he spied Luna Lovegood in the alcove. Unfortunately, at that precise moment, Luna appeared to spy him, springing to her feet and closing the book crisply (entirely losing her place. Draco would not have done that for anyone. Dignity was expressed in the small things).

"Draco! I see you found the answer!" Luna said - was she wearing a necklace of carrots? Draco Malfoy dearly wanted to ask what that was about, but he would no doubt be considered rude.

"What answer?" Draco asked curiously, studying the often "high as a kite" girl.

Luna's silvery peas of laughter carried down the halls, "Oh, I haven't the slightest idea."

"Then how do you know that I've found the right answer?" Draco Malfoy asked, finding it passing strange that this was the one child who had noticed his troubled demeanor. Even Snape hadn't said a word, though if Snape was training Potter (and really, who else would fit the job? Surely not Sprout!), he would have solid reasons for his inattention.

"You're too bright to not pick at the holes in arguments. Even ones you're raised to believe in." Luna said with a smile, "Besides, Slytherins have a fascination with knowing secrets."

"And Ravenclaws don't?" Draco Malfoy said, remembering quite a few children's takes about spellwitches.

"Well, I for one would rather know what secrets I don't know about." Luna said with a pause, "You wouldn't have noticed a thing if you weren't the same way."

Draco pursed his lips together, thinking about this, as it sounded almost like a riddle. But, it was nearly true - he had noticed the secret that he wasn't being told - by looking for inconsistencies.

"How could you not have wanted to know?" Draco suddenly asked.

"I never said I didn't want to know. But you were looking already, and I'm certain you'll tell me when the time is right." Luna said, her blonde toussled braid bobbing with her declaration.

"Awful lot of trust you put in me." Draco Malfoy drawled lazily, pretending as if he wasn't touched... and honestly a bit baffled.

"Trust is for secret-sharing. Belief is for people." Luna looked at him, her eyes sharpening to a point that definitely resembled his Mother's looks. "Besides, you helped Hildred."

Hildred? Draco thought, racking his mind for who in the world that was, and coming up with nothing at all. In fact, Luna Lovegood was disappearing around the bend in the corridor before Draco regained his wits (he saw her white dress trailing behind her as she turned).

[a/n: Draco helped a firstie. Luna noticed. Draco would vaguely remember that firstie... if someone had given him a description, and not just a name he'd never heard.

Reviews please!]


	26. Sooner or Later

Draco Malfoy was sitting in the library, in a high nook which gave him a great vantage for eavesdropping, spying, or other forms of skullduggery. Not that he had any of those in mind this particular day, of course, but it was always wise to keep ones options open. And it was where he always sat, anyway. He had a list, that he was working on. Well, to be fair, it was a number of lists.

He'd normally have worked on it in his bedchamber, or perhaps in the Common Room, but everyone was avoiding him, and so such demonstrations of cunning and intelligence would have to wait until people were going to do more than run away from him like he had the plague.

Not that Draco minded waiting for that. The space was actually quite nice - even Greg and Vince had been somewhat wary (told by their mothers, no doubt, that Draco might actually have need for bodyguards, so they should be careful).

And Draco was a Malfoy, after all, and sooner or later, everyone would remember that fact. He smirked, smug in the knowledge that money will out, sooner or late. His family hadn't always the pretended title of Lord, after all.

Draco Malfoy heard the wheels rolling, and glanced over his shoulder hurriedly. His jaw dropped at what he saw - that was Luna Lovegood, in a characteristic white dress -was she wearing a carrot necklace? And were those radishes in her ears?

Draco wished he could say he was surprised when Luna rolled to a neat stop beside him. "Ah, the social outcast." Draco Malfoy drawled, looking her down as she jumped off the rolling ladder.

Luna's lips quirked up, and she said cheerfully, "Takes one to know one." Birdlike, she looked down at him, leaning over his shoulder, "What are you working on?"

"Nothing secret," Draco Malfoy drawled, "So I suppose I can stand you looking at it."

Luna folded herself up across from Draco, her silence intended to drive him crazy - but Draco Malfoy was well used to silence-as-a-weapon, and so it did not affect him as it might others. "Brown's not as waterlogged as all that, is she?" Luna said, pointing at the category "Sniveling Whelp" as Draco looked at her, eyes narrowing.

"I'm not here to look, Mister Malfoy." Luna said with a cold bark of a laugh. "I'm here to help. So long as it isn't secret - which means that you'll be doing the Slytherins yourself."

"Probably for the best." Draco said with an affected sigh, "Slytherins do so like their depths."

"I've always been a fan of heights, personally. " Luna said cheerfully.

[a/n: Draco's working through categorizing people. Because to a Slytherin making a plan is nearly as much fun as executing one.

Luna's being, well, Luna. Nobody pays much attention to her daft attitude, and that's just the way she likes it.

write a review!]


	27. Immutable Stupidity

Two weeks later, Draco Malfoy came down to the Great Hall, his mind turning over thoughts about the seventh years, which would be useful, who could potentially be useful, and who was merely an awful liability. He was so preoccupied that he failed to notice the intense whispering as he entered the hall.

"There he is!"

"Do you suppose?"

"The Fat Lady!"

Draco Malfoy sat at the Slytherin table, as usual. Not as usual, he was not surrounded by his friends. Even proximately not usual, Goyle and Crabbe were staring at him.

Zambini, his lips not moving at all, stage-whispered, "They think you had something to do with it." directly into Draco's ear.

Draco fought from hopping up, or from glaring at Zambini. It was disconcerting when you weren't expecting it! "What?" Draco whispered, quiet as a mouse.

"Something happened today." Goyle said pointedly, his leaden tones somehow taking the frivolity out of the gossip. "Black tried to enter the Gryffindor Tower, I think." And if Goyle thought that, it was undoubtedly true. He wasn't always the sharpest knife in the shed, but he knew the difference between truth and a pack of lies.

"They what? They think that I've convinced Black to - what? Go after Weasleys?" Draco Malfoy sputtered. "That's mad! Bonkers! Three hairs short of a whisker!"

"I know." Crabbe said. "But they don't seem likely to listen to me, do they now?" Crabbe's slow drawl helped to center Draco. He was right, of course. Now that the mad gossips had hold of it, soon it would be seen as Draco having a compact with the murderer. Which was completely and totally absurd. It was Potter without a scrap of survival instinct, not Draco. Had Draco seen a frothing murderer (or even a smartly dressed evildoer), he'd simply have run. That was common sense - upon seeing murderer (and without prior arrangement), run your bowlegs off getting away.

Was the entirety of the Gryffindor table that stupid? Well, all the Weasleys were glaring at him (Save Ron, who seemed to be comforting Hermione). Still, that hardly meant anything. Glares between the tables were a happy pastime.

It got worse as the day went on, tripping jinxes and the like. Draco Malfoy could put up with those (although one sent Goyle nearly to breaking his neck, and Draco solemnly promised that he'd get revenge on the pale brunet who had sent the jinx. Killing people accidentally was not fair quiddich).

As Draco slid with a sigh into his seat in Potions class, he desperately hoped that the teachers wouldn't listen to the lies.

Draco had thought it was obvious - if Black was trying to get into Gryffindor, he was after someone who wasn't Draco Malfoy. Still, Draco had canvassed everyone there, and he didn't see who might have attracted the attention of a murder in Azkaban.

[a/n: well, it had to happen. And no, people aren't being reasonable. Leave me a review.]


	28. Not something small

Draco Malfoy had thought that the rumors would die down soon. Or, well, that they'd get so out of control that soon everyone would stop taking them seriously. Until then, Draco Malfoy thought, he'd do the Proper Slytherin thing and lie low.

With such thoughts, Draco had headed out to the Black Lake, Vince and Greg at his heels. He climbed onto a large boulder and started trying to skip stones. He never was much good at it, and only managed about four skips, even on the best of days. And today was not the best of days...

Draco blinked, as music (Dvorak) blared from all directions around him. _What in the-?_ Draco thought, nearly whirling around, before he noticed that the Black Lake was considerably farther away than it was ten seconds ago. Draco's eyes looked downward, and he saw himself on a wooden drum, that began to spin, saving himself the trouble of looking behind him.

What he saw almost made his heart stop -

Fred and George Weasley, both sporting wide grins and fine raiment (truthfully, the latter was much more surprising) - and then they _bowed_. To Draco Malfoy.

Once Draco blinked his stupefied expression away, his eyes caught his friends, looking unsure of themselves - their wands out, but no spells on the tip of their tongue. _Probably couldn't decide whether this counted as an attack or not_.

"O, Master of Deception, Sleight - of - hand, and Spycraft of all sorts." The Weasleys started.

Draco decided to play along - _really, why not? it wasn't like it was costing any Malfoy dignity._ \- "Yes, villains?" He said with an indulgent smile (a rare expression on his face to be sure).

"We crave a boon!" One of the Weasleys said, and Draco found himself wondering what the capstone to this scene was going to be. There would be repercussions if they set off fireworks right under him, no matter if they hurt him or not. Somehow, the two twins had managed to get a dog to go along with their prank, and it howled behind them. _Was that a Grimm?_ Draco thought.

"Speak, and I shall decide." Draco drawled, trying to sound regal. He wasn't quite sure if it worked, honestly.

"Your talent for sneaking into places unseen is unparalleled!" The Weasleys said.

 _Wait, what?_ Draco Malfoy said stately, "Fools that you are, you appear to have mistaken me for a mirror. Your skill at sneaking is legendary."

The Weasleys dropped the act, "We had wondered -"

"If you'd ever admit you werent"

"The best at anything."

Draco found himself looking from one to the other, wondering where they were possibly going with this. Because they were two rapscallions, and believing the common rumor mill would be so droll.

"We have a bit of a security situation." The first twin said.

"Not that we're normally all that insecure." The second said with a lascivious grin, miming a dogwhistle at someone who didn't even exist.

"But our bints are becoming bitchy."

"Witchy"

"No, they were already witchy."

"Angie promised him a kiss if we figured out what had happened."

"Kate promised him more if we caught the bloke that did it." _Oh, now that sounds just like the Weasleys - see how quickly they could start planning a brood just as big as their parents._

"You've got intel,"

"we can tell."

"Share." The Weasleys finally said together.

Draco lifted his chin, tilting his head to one side, "What's in it for me?"

The Weasleys looked at each other, in a bit of consternation. _Surely_ , at some point in time, someone asked for something out of them.

"One free shot at the snitch." the left weasel said, the dog behind him wagging his tail.

"Not much of a chip, that," Draco said with a smirk, "With Potter gone, I'll be better than your Seeker."

"Then that's our chip." the right weasel said. "Gin'll be our next Seeker, sure as Sunday. And she's nearly as good as Potter."

Draco frowned at the news, though he realized he shouldn't have been all that surprised.

"Now Spill." The weasels said.

Draco sighed, looked put upon, and then finally said, "I've looked, you understand? I've tried to pick out anyone in the Gryffindor dorm, even the portraits. Nothing, no reason, there is absolutely nothing that would point Cousin Black towards the Gryffindor tower." Draco frowned, for a moment, "He was one of you, though. You're the sneakers - maybe he was looking for something? Maybe a hidden wand?" Draco shook his head, "It's either something small and personal, or it's something so big that I'm not even thinking of it." Draco shook his head saying fervently, "I just want him gone, back to Azkaban where he belongs."

With a puff of smoke, the Weasleys (and the dog) were gone, leaving Draco to jump off the many-colored drum, and look down at Vince and Greg, shaking his head at them.

[a/n: Leave a review! Because this isn't the twins story, we aren't going to hear anything about this again unless it's relevant to Draco.

And yes, sirius came by. Looking a little better from the rats in the forest.]


	29. Fitting In

Draco Malfoy had loved Christmastime for as long as he could remember. Oh, it wasn't the gifts (though they were entrancing) - it was the time he spent with his parents. His father wasn't often home, when he was a small child, and so Draco's memories of the man were always of him in the snow, a big woolen cloak pulled over his fine robes.

And so it was a bit of a relief, for Draco, to push aside all of his thoughts from school, to set aside all of his cares (including that History of Magic essay Binns had assigned - Draco would do it on the train back, and no sooner).

Standing in the Slytherin Common room, Draco brushed nonexistent lint off his shoulders. He waited calmly for his godfather to arrive, as did most of the other Slytherins. No goodbyes were exchanged in such a public place - Draco had whispered a goodbye to his roommates, before feeling very silly for having done so - they weren't close to him, not even Goyle and Crabbe, who hung around him because with their looks, connections to power would be quite useful. Everyone seemed to assume they were bodyguards, anyway, no matter what Draco had said. In fact, Draco had briefly toyed with the idea of training them as bodyguards, before thinking that eleven year old bodyguards were simply irrepressably silly, and Draco Malfoy should stop encouraging his silly ideas, before they overtook his good sense and he wound up smiling like a Gryffindor.

[a/n: Well, off to home and Father and Mother. It shouldn't surprise anyone that Draco's his mother's boy - she's the one who had charge of raising him, while her husband was raising Cain in the Ministry. Reviews are always welcome, if you like the story or if not!]


	30. Yuletide

Draco Malfoy had found himself an empty cabin on the trip home (as there were children staying at school... Draco blinked, at once wondering why Potter had spent every Christmas Malfoy'd known him at school. Maybe he'd get a chance to ask, _eventually_ , Draco thought somberly, uneasily reminded of his godfather's time at school... and at home, which he spoke of with such great rarity that it was hard not to guess that dark things had occurred there**). It was a long ride, and Draco spent some of it lulled to an uneasy slumber as the cars shook back and forth, rocking him into the sleepy sands that Father Time forgot.

As the train pulled into the station, Draco saw his mother waiting for him, her ice-blue eyes crinkling slightly in anticipation as the train pulled up. Before the train was even fully stopped, Draco was bounding out of his cabin, sweeping up on his mother and enveloping her in a frankly childish hug, which she returned warmly. They were on the edge of the platform, neatly shielded from prying eyes by a baggage cart. "Let me look at you," his mum said in dulcet tones, as she pulled back, "You've grown," she said with a soft smile, "Soon you'll outgrow me entirely."

"Never!" Draco whispered forcefully.

The moment was broken by Vince and Greg, who were tugging Draco's trunk towards him. "Thank you," he said gravely, slipping a generous galleon into each boy's pocket. They'd figure it out later, of course - Vince and Greg knew enough to not look until they were in a place of better safety than the edge of the platform. For all that they were easily big enough to fight their yearmates at fistcuffs, they'd do poorly against a seventh year, and well they knew it. Also, in a more Slytherin way, they could be accused of stealing (for they were certainly poor enough), and that would be much worse than a bruising, as it would affect their social standing.

Draco laced his hands together, giving his mother a firm leg up as she stepped into the carriage. He was proud of being able to do so - _I guess I really am getting taller._

* * *

Yuletide was the day of celebration, and Draco Malfoy was not looking forward to a day spent in the company of Pansy Parkinson and her friends. There was nothing to be done about it, he thought sternly to himself, so best not to complain. He had neither the standing, nor frankly the poor manners that his godfather possessed. If he had, he might have employed them to be disinvited from this event. His collar itched, and his shoes pinched his toes. Draco didn't want to dance the polka or the waltz, he wanted to be outside on his broom, or at least - well, anything else. Even homework. Hm, that was one trick he hadn't tried before... It was unlikely to work! Draco thought with a grin, and unrepentantly strode over to his mum to express his feelings on exactly what a dire state his homework was in, and precisely how much of the celebration he would miss so that he could repair its sadly neglected state. He nearly made it through before his mother started laughing, silvery peals of glissandos falling around him. At least he could help his mothers nerves like this, he thought with a soft smile. "You'll be staying the entire time, my son." She said sternly, as she choked back laughter. Draco loved that his mother could set aside all her cares and worries, let the mask of absolute confidence drop - if only for a second.

With a sigh, he resumed looking out the window, knowing that sooner or later his mum would find a use for his wand; so, no, he couldn't take a walk like he desired.

**Snape has other reasons for not mentioning his time at home. We know that, Draco doesn't.

[And we're skipping the Yule Ball, because Draco finds it boring and is trying to blend into the scenery. Being so pale, and with the Malfoy ballroom being marble, I'd say he's got a good shot! Leave a review...]


	31. A Christmas without Hugs

Draco Malfoy LOVED Christmas. Oh, there were the required presents, and the mandatory presents. But, and this was the key part, there were actually a few presents that were just for him. Generally from his mother, and occasionally from his father. The rest of his relatives need not apply (particularly since a good deal of them were in Azkaban.)

And broomstick riding in the snow (There was always snow, Narcissa Malfoy insisted)... If Draco Malfoy was especially lucky, his father would fly with him.

Once, a long time ago, Severus Snape had come to their Christmas celebration. He'd been smashed up drunk at the time, and Draco had been shushed away quickly. Draco had wondered, before that, whether his godfather even had a Christmas celebration. After that, he knew - Snape wasn't fit company during the holidays, and it was best to leave him alone.

Draco bounded up to his mother, who was sitting elegantly on a white snow sculpture in the middle of the snowy garden (the stream was still trickling a jaunty little tune). "The scarf's great!" he cried, bounding past her and into a white snow fort the house elves were just putting the finishing touches on. Draco called it Avalon. Draco always called it Avalon. Once, when he was very young, he had wanted to be Lancelot. His mother had taken him sharply to task, and had said that he'd make a better Arthur - after all, Malfoys were born to command. And so Draco shrugged himself into the snow crown, and the sword, and his mother would dress as Lady of the Lake - and his father would dress as Myrddin himself. The house elves would be the knights of the round table, and they'd all have a feast in the snow fort.

For this was Christmas, and, for one day, the world stood still.

[a/n: Well, this just went perpendicular. Write a review, if you please. As for the title? Draco's da never likes hugs (they aggravate some of his damage from the war) and doesn't like seeing his son get them either. So no hugs on Christmas.]


	32. To Hogwarts!

Draco nodded slightly to his mother and father as he left them on the platform, climbing into the train without a backward glance. He was glad that this year, he could handle his trunk (it was easy to cast a weightless charm, but harder to actually maneuver the damned things.)

He sat in a compartment, alone. His fellow Slytherins had momentarily popped their heads in, but had left at his glare. His feet tapped the floor in a naked display of anticipation and almost anxiety which he wouldn't have shown if he hadn't known that nobody could see. Draco wanted to know what was coming, and he wanted to know it _yesterday_.

Because this was it - either Potter would be there, at the sorting feast, today - or he'd be coming next _year_. And, to Draco's young mind, that was entirely too far away. He'd have to... do _something_ in the meantime, and he wasn't quite sure what he could do, let alone what would be effective. Every mile that passed was a reminder of how much further they had to go. And Draco Malfoy badly wanted to be there, Right Now.

Complaining would be no use. Talking would be no use - there wasn't gossip juicy enough in the entire world to draw his focus away from what would meet him at Hogwarts this semester.

[a/n: jittery Draco is fun. He's allowed to be jittery, just so long as no one's there to take advantage of his openness. Leave a review? Up Next: The Sorting Feast.]


	33. Eight Dangling Feet

Draco Malfoy hopped into the carriage lightly, unsurprised that Pansy climbed in just after, with her usual retinue of Tracy and Mill and Daphne. It was quite a tight fit, particularly after Astoria climbed in. Wow, that one was getting... old enough, Draco Malfoy thought suddenly, looking at how her front swelled with a burgeoning beauty. Thinking quickly of stewed okra and mussels (one of his most hated foods), Draco found himself staring out of the carriage awkwardly. He didn't especially want to talk with any of them, and wasn't in the mood to put up with Pansy's "You are Mine Forever" gag. At least, he hoped everyone in the carriage knew it was a gag. Because if they didn't... well, that would be even more awkward. Nothing like starting some juicy gossip first day back, Draco Malfoy thought wryly, just, do _try_ and not have it stick to your _own_ shoes.*

Draco Malfoy was the first out the carriage, and he heard a squawk from behind him as he raced for the Great Hall (some lass undoubtedly upset that he hadn't helped her out the carriage). The new student/s (if there were any, most years there weren't), would already be in the Great Hall. Draco got almost to the Great Hall, before - panting - he slowed to an elegant walk, taking the time to catch his breath. Appearances weren't everything, but they were often crucial. And Draco Malfoy would hardly put in an appearance looking like he'd been running for his life.

Draco Malfoy strode into the Great Hall (the second one there, and the first had been one of the ganglier weasleys. possibly planning a prank, best to be wary). His eyes scanned the High Table, seeing the four children sitting on stiff, high-backed chairs. Eight dangling feet. Gliding effortlessly to his own place, he pretended to be more interested in sitting properly than gawping at the new students. Having seated himself (and as more people started filing in), Draco Malfoy shamelessly eyed the four students. He had been right, he wanted to exult, but kept that feeling well under wraps.

Two were girls, and one was a stout boy that Malfoy felt certain couldn't have possibly been Potter. There was no way Draco could see Snape, or anyone, really, feeding Potter enough to turn him as big as Gregory Goyle. So that left the last in line - mouse brown hair, a simple, tanned face - and sharp brown eyes. They weren't on him, of course, and Draco obscurely felt a little bit of relief at that point. Instead, those eyes scanned everyone entering, nearly passively - as if he was busy thinking about things that weren't quite there. Which he well might have been, trying to rethink his story and keep it straight.

*Don't make gossip that reflects poorly upon yourself. The reference is to dung.

[a/n: well, Potter's here. Or at least Draco _thinks_ Potter's here. What'll happen next, you think?

... that's right. The sorting!]


	34. Curt Finn

Headmaster Dumbledore stood, in all his cockamamie majesty, and greeted the returning students, "Welcome back, children, to your continuing journey and exploration into your education. Here, before me, sit four young pupils, ready to grace this institution with new insights and perspectives. Deputy - Minerva, if you will, the Sorting Hat." Here, he gestured grandly.

Draco wasn't terribly impressed. But he was listening, and heard the hidden meaning as if it were invisible ink, plain as day to him and only him. He idly supposed that wasn't true - there had to be more people than Draco Malfoy who knew the truth. Well, him and Harry Potter, he amended.

The Sorting Hat sang a song, but it was a different song - as it always was. This one spoke, not as his first song had of virtues, but instead of hidden truths. It spoke of the four houses as if they were of one body. The Slytherins, the left handed shield - and the Gryffindors, of course, as the sword. The Ravenclaws? The head, obviously. And then the Sorting Hat came to Hufflepuff, and Draco found himself leaning forward, as it spoke of the Wizarding World's hands and feet. For it sang of Hufflepuffs' sense of mending, of knitting together, and of the steadfastness and surety that they gained from hard work.

All in all, Draco Malfoy thought, it was an auspicious beginning if - and here his breath quickened - they meant to send Potter to Hufflepuff. Had someone bribed the hat? However would you do that? Was that even a possibility? Maybe Dumbledore offered to put it on his own head, give the poor thing something vast and mazy to think about for the rest of the year... Would that do it?

"Curt Finn," Minerva called, and Draco Malfoy blinked, as Harry Potter trotted calmly up to the Sorting Hat (come to think, the first two hadn't looked terribly scared - perhaps it was because they weren't expected in a house, as Bottomlong and Malfoy had both been). As the hat sat upon Potter's head, Draco Malfoy began to chuckle inwardly, to himself. Who had decided on that name for Potter, who was often as loud and long of words as Percy Weasley (if markedly less officious)!

[a/n: Snape, of course. As he put it, "A bit of a reminder, Mister Potter. Silence is golden."

Like this? Hate this? Want more? Drop me a review, and we'll see!]


	35. Hufflepuff!

"Hufflepuff!" The sorting hat at long last declared, giving an impatient Draco Malfoy time to concoct dozens of schemes that would involve burning the stupid hat to get it to give its answer sooner.

The 'Puffs, as they always did, applauded politely. Curt Finn was welcomed with open arms and grinning faces. As they did, Draco Malfoy relaxed, if only slightly (hopefully too slightly to be noticed).

The sorting ended, with the last girl headed to Ravenclaw (quelle surprise, she had the squinty look of a scholar about her), and the feast began.

Draco Malfoy ate with gusto and decorum, managing to eat nearly as much as Vince or Greg, and yet completely elegantly, with crossed silverware at the end. His eyes had sought out Potter at first opportunity, at first slightly disappointed that no one had managed to teach Potter manners, and then, with a bit more inspection, seeing that they _had_ \- it was just that the manners were shabby. Now who would take the time to instruct Potter in shabby manners, of all things? Draco blinked, finding himself wondering what they had been doing with Potter for months, now. Before seeing the boy, it had been easy enough to file the whole shenanigan under 'training' - but now Draco found himself suddenly markedly interested.

As the feast began to break up, Draco Malfoy was one of the first to leave, quietly signaling to his friends to stay seated. He strode with a graceful stride, quick and sure - the type that had people sliding out of his way despite his lack of hurry. He stood outside the Great Hall, and waited, leaning, as was his custom, against a stone statue of a dryad (a perplexing choice of medium, Draco had always thought).

Potter was one of the first to leave, which was a mistake - however, one that Potter was not going to get to see the consequences of. As Potter approached, Draco kicked off from the statue, standing tall. Potter's eyes focused intently on Draco, as Draco re-introduced himself, hand outstretched. "I'm Draco Malfoy. If you stick with me, I'll show you exactly who you should be friends with."

Potter's eyes had gone dark, for a second - undoubtedly remembering the first time Draco had given him this exact greeting. And then, they seemed to clear - as if he was reminding himself that he was a Hufflepuff, and that Draco was introducing himself to someone _new_.

"Pleasure to meet you." Potter said as he grasped Draco's hand.

"Always," Draco responded, and then tugged - catching Potter quite off-balance, as Draco's jerk sent him stumbling into the alcove, where Draco's back was now against the wall.

The hallway in front of the Great Hall had been more silent than was normal, but inside the enfolding, stultifying, silence of Draco's anti-eavesdropping spell, you could hear a pin drop. Potter, straightening, started to open his mouth - at which point, Draco precisely cut him off. "Potter, I know it's you."

A brown-eyed Blink, and then another. Finally, as if the word came bursting out like a river bursting its banks, Harry Potter shouted, "Howww?"

Draco Malfoy simply smirked, and said, "Now that would be telling. But we'll make such great friends, won't we?"

Harry Potter eyed his former? rival skeptically.

"You can do my Herbology homework, and I can keep your secrets." Draco Malfoy said calmly.

"You know better than to trust my Herbology homework." Harry snorted.

"I do, but - " here Draco smiled, "You're the new kid, remember?" Draco stuck his hands in his pockets, and smirked sideways at Potter, "Besides, nobody would believe I'd be friends with a Hufflepuff if I wasn't getting _something_ out of it."

Potter's eyes were growing steadily more worried, Draco thought, eyeing the fretting boy. Best to make an exit before he switches over to fightin'. "It's left, left, two doors down, and then hang the first right. Go down the stairs and follow the yellow." Draco said quickly, turning to leave.

"What's that, again?" Potter asked.

"Directions to the Hufflepuff Common Room." Draco said, flashing a knife-quick smile, "Don't say I never did anything for you."

[a/n: Plot, meet Draco. Leave a review?]


	36. One Moment Longer

Had Draco Malfoy spent just a few moments longer in the corridor, rather than making his Grand exit in the expeditious, Slytherin style, he might have noticed that Curt Finn wasn't headed towards the Hufflepuff Sett at all.

Instead, Curt Finn was making his way hastily (his strides longer than Snape's normal glide) towards the Slytherin dungeons. He was taking the back way (which Snape had drilled into his head repeatedly), and was in something of a state.

Hurriedly, he dodged between groups of Slytherins (waiting until the entire hallway was clear before emerging from sheltering darkness), and rapped twice on the Potion Master's door. He paused a moment, and then struck the door hard enough to ring it like a bell.

Snape opened the door, standing almost on top of the boy in Hufflepuff robes. "What?" He snarled, grabbing the boy by the scruff of his neck, and hauling him in the door. Snape's cruel words died on his tongue, looking at how upset the boy seemed.

"It's Malfoy." Harry said, with wide eyes.

"What, is he dead? Bleeding? Did you punch him until he cried?" Snape said mockingly.

"He _knows_." Harry said, in a small voice.

Snape snarled, hissing privacy spells that Harry only knew weren't Parseltongue because they did occasionally use a letter other than S. "Potter, What did you do?" Snape blared, his body tense with frustration.

And, for once in his life, Harry Potter didn't bleat out the first thing to pop into his mind. He sat there, blinking, and reviewed the feast. Reviewed everything. "I don't _know_."

And Snape smiled, that crooked teeth, snaggletoothed smile that so few people ever got to see. "Then, _clearly_ , you weren't the one who tipped him off. Relax." Harry Potter seemed to deflate, as if it was only the tension that had been holding him up.

"Sit. Tell me everything." Snape said, pretending not to see what looked almost like a wave of dizziness.

Harry Potter tried to recall it word for word, as he'd been taught. He didn't do terribly bad, all things considered.

"You admitted to it?" Snape said at last, raising an eyebrow.

Harry Potter looked down, saying, "Yes sir." Then he looked up, hopefully, and said, "What am I going to do?" He was up and pacing before Snape could get a word in, wringing his hands.

"You are going to do precisely nothing. Not a word to encourage Mister Malfoy. Allow him to initiate all moves, unless I tell you otherwise." Snape said smoothly, his arm almost casually grabbing Potter by the shoulder and spinning him to look into Snape's inky eyes. "Above all else, do not reveal that you are Harry to him, unless he indicates that he already knows. This goes for every interaction with him, until I tell you otherwise."

"Are... are you going to oblivate him?" Harry asked, and Snape felt the boy shiver under his fingers.

Snape smiled his toothy smile, "We shall see."

"And, about the proposed friendship? Ron'll _kill_ me!" Harry blurted out.

"Overall, it's a positive step. And rid your mind of fears about the youngest male Weasley. If he's your friend, he'll stick by you no matter what. That's what friends do." Snape said, pausing, "Or so I'm told. Mind you, I've never had one of my own. Perhaps, Mister Malfoy might be a better choice." Potter stopped wriggling under Snape's hand to turn to him, and stare. "Still, you don't have the option of choosing, at this precise moment. Remember, Harry, it's about more than you."

Snape's words had an unusual effect on the boy, who looked a bit shaken. "Yes, sir. I'll... try not to worry."

"Then off with you." Snape snapped kindly, "And remember, you're not to come visit me unless there's a crisis."

"Yessir" Harry said, and flew off as soon as Snape dropped his wards.

As soon as the door shut, Snape buried his head in his hands, and started laughing so hard his shoulders shook.

[a/n: Snape's been around enough adolescent drama that he finds the whole thing funny.

Leave a review? Next up: Dealing with Draco]


	37. With a smile on his lips

Draco Malfoy went to sleep early that night with a smile on his lips.

Meanwhile, Curt Finn was finally reaching the Hufflepuff common room. It wasn't empty - in fact, it was nearly full - and all conversation had died as he set foot inside the door. _Means that they were all talking about me, I suppose. Should be used to it by now,_ he thought hatefully, _Figured without the scar, I'd be done with all that._

A small second year (he thought, he vaguely remembered seeing her sorted over a year ago. The blond braids were distinctive) looked at him with big eyes, "Are you really friends with Draco Malfoy?"

 _Great, another thing to "thank" Malfoy for. First day, and already the entire house is staring at me. Still, it's Hufflepuff. So at least they don't hate me, yet._ Curt leaned forward, pitching his voice low as he said to the younger girl, "Seems so, now, doesn't it?"

A thin, lanky second year ( _how was he taller than Cedric, even? That was totally not fair)_ spoke up, "You shouldn't be friends with him. Last year, he threw me in the lake with my clothes on."

"Really?" Curt Finn asked, a smile tugging at his lips.

"It was December, and I walked back the whole way in wet clothes." The boy continued. "Missed the next week of class too, sick abed."

 _Shite,_ Curt thought, that was serious. Harry took a deep breath, and said loudly, "Anyone else _concerned_ with my friendship with Malfoy?" The eyes trained on him from around the room meant that nobody needed to really say a word. Though, Curt Finn hoped that Malfoy hadn't been tussling with the seventh years. Even a Hufflepuff was dangerous if he was that far advanced over you.

"I choose to come here, to House Hufflepuff. The house of friendship." Curt Finn slowly spun his head around the room, meeting people's eyes at random, and hoping he was doing this right. "So, no, I'm not going to spurn his friendship."

A low rumbling started around the room, and the looks turned decidedly unfriendly. "As a member of this house, I will make certain that My Friend Malfoy doesn't touch a hair on any Hufflepuff's head, be they big or small."

"Easy for you to say," Sue Bones said, challengingly. "Lotta talk for being new around here."

"Proof's in the Pudding," Harry responded calmly, his insides churning, "So you let me know if Malfoy steps out of line."

A fourth year whom Harry Potter vaguely recognized spoke up from the side of the room, "Make him apologize, that's the least you could do, _friend_."

Curt Finn paused for a moment, closing his eyes and breathing in, and then out. He spun, his sharp eyes meeting the fourth year's, as Curt said, "Two weeks. He'll apologize in two weeks, or I'm no Hufflepuff." _Or, he's not my friend,_ Harry Potter thought, grim determination fighting with glee. Presenting Malfoy with a forked path was akin to giving Malfoy a chance to break it off.

[a/n: That last bit - in case it's not clear - Harry knows he's supposed to be helping bring people together, but It's Malfoy, and Ron Will Hate Me, are both getting in the way of "What I Should Do".

And yes, about two people saw him. Even Hufflepuff loves to gossip.

Leave a review?]


	38. Sleepy Sunday

Draco Malfoy rose early in the morning, absurdly excited for what lay ahead. Somehow, it seemed like everything looked... just a little different from before. He wasn't quite sure why, or really how - saturation, perhaps? **

He didn't expect Potter to be early, but Draco served himself a full breakfast anyway, his behavior all the more proper for not having Goyle and Crabbe to be compared to - this early in the morning, they were still abed. As was most of the school, Draco supposed. Snape ate this early, and occasionally Flitwick, but even if Sprout got up this early, she'd be busy watering in the greenhouses.*** Ah, there was Percy Weasley, and three early-bird Ravenclaws, living up to their house's sigil.

Draco was nearly through breakfast, and plotting a quick review of all his homework, before he saw a slip of paper discretely slid onto his place. Eleven o' clock. * _My office_ was all it said. Snape never needed to say more.

Draco quickly reviewed what he'd done, recently and not so recently, that someone might have decided to tattle to the Professor about. Surprisingly, his slate seemed ... clean. He had been... rather busy, hadn't he? Too busy for pranks, or dares, or other nonsense that Professor Snape hated. Such a relieving thought did nothing to clear Draco's mind. He frowned, and he kept frowning.

No _real_ reason just invited thoughts of fabrications, deceptions and twistings of the truth. And Draco could see them all dancing in front of him, like wisps of smoke. It was eight and a half, Draco thought, I have two and a half hours to figure out who's out to get me.

*Placement of note on Draco's place at the table.

**Lookitup. Hue Saturation Value.

***Draco knows.

[a/n: And we're off into Slytherin Fun! Draco's reaction to Snape's note kinda surprised me, so apologies if it takes me a bit of time to come up with his schemes. They'll be labyrinthine. But if you've been reading any of my other works, that shouldn't surprise you.

Leave a review?]


	39. Up and then Down Again

Draco had left the Great Hall, striding not for the Slytherin dormitory, but up, up to the top of the Astronomy Tower. It was always a good place for thinking, after all. As he strode up the stairs, taking them two at a time and as light as a deer, Draco thought of what was going on. Someone had set a trap for him - and likely not because of what he'd done, but for their own purposes. He shook his head, as he crested the tower, looking out at the oncoming rainclouds.

Someone needed to learn that Draco Malfoy was not their personal fall guy.

Someone was going to pay.

Draco Malfoy needed to figure out what exactly was being pinned on him. That was first. Then he'd be able to figure out exactly who had done it. Hopefully. As he strode down the stairs, he realized that he wasn't going to be able to find enough evidence before the meeting with Snape. Too many people would skip breakfast, and he needed a pinpoint on someone to truly shake them down.

Still, there was always Vince and Greg. Perhaps they'd seen something? Perhaps even Nott or Zambini could be bribed into telling him if Snape had searched his belongings. It would be just his luck that someone'd put a Dark Artifact into his trunk, and then called Snape to squeal.

No, Draco Malfoy thought, I'd do better just to see what Snape wants. Maybe someone's decided to start a stupid rumor, like I'm in love with the Mudblood (or the Weaselette) - they'd better not have started a rumor that I'm in love with Ron Weasley, I'll shatter someone for that.** Everyone should know I have better taste than Ronald Bilius Weasley!

**he means it too. Shatter in this case refers to a substantial number of broken bones.

[a/n: Well, Draco was going to set a ton of different traps, but then I realized that Snape's lecture/yelling/detention-giving was likely to give Draco many more clues than whatever he'd manage to cobble together on his own. So, instead, he's coming up with responses to the potential trouble he's been gotten into. Note that unlike the Gryffindors, he's willing to eat whatever punishment Snape dishes out. He's looking towards the future, and towards making someone pay.

I do like reviews. Will you write one for me?]


	40. Straightening Ties

Draco Malfoy stood at his Head of House's office door, straightening his tie. A simple spell told him that he was still two minutes early.

At precisely one minute early, Draco Malfoy knocked on the door, and from inside, Severus Snape's sharp "Enter" emerged.

"Sit down, Draco," Professor Snape said, as he opened the door.

Draco sat softly in one of the hardbacked chairs that Snape generally used for people who sought an audience with him. They were harsh and unyielding - the perfect accompaniment to Snape's acerbic personality, just to further the unpleasantness, one supposes.

Snape strode behind Draco, seating himself in his highbacked leather chair (not cushioned, not for Snape. More a frame with leather interwoven rather than slats of wood.).

"Catch," Snape said, grabbing up a clear ball about double the size of a fist, and throwing it underhanded to Draco.

Draco caught it smoothly, and Snape nodded, looking his charge up and down. At last, Snape drawled, "So, a little bird tells me you've been wavering in your allegiances."

Caught offguard, Draco Malfoy lied by instinct, smoothly, "No, sir."

Severus Snape looked down his long nose at Draco, and said, "Look at that ball again, Malfoy." Draco did as told, nearly dropping the ball as it had turned jet black, swirling with inky mist inside. "A rather curious artifact that, one that darkens when its holder lies."

"Truth now, and be quick about it." Potion Master Snape said, and Draco Malfoy was reluctantly reminded that Snape knew more about the Dark Arts than nearly anyone he'd met - nearly as much as his father.

Draco Malfoy stared dumbly down at the sphere, rapidly resolving to an obsidian-like inky black shine. There was something here - something he wasn't seeing. Shocked, Draco Malfoy flung his eyes up at Snape - cutting off the Potion Master's own open, twisted mouth, " _Potter_. He _told_ you." Draco Malfoy's eyes were wide. There had been a million and one things that Draco had imagined could be this year (half of which were probably pure fantasy), but of all things, an alliance between Potter and Snape was on the list.

"Go on, boy." Snape purred.

Draco Malfoy's brow had creased, and he was thinking back to what Snape had said, "What do you mean - allegiances?" he said, as if to himself.

Professor Snape had never been one to leave other's rhetorical questions alone, "Surely you realize that Potter and your father are not on the same side?"

Draco Malfoy's eyes got as wide as saucers, as he (very, very belatedly) began to think. He hadn't, really, thought of the consequences. Just gone plunging ahead, like some stupid Gryffindor. Glad as anything to have figured out the riddle... and maybe, the reason why there was a riddle in the first place.

Professor Snape had just implied that Lucius Malfoy was on Dark Lord Voldemort's side.

"I have been a fool." Draco Malfoy whispered, more to himself than to his teacher, though Severus Snape didn't miss a syllable.

"Fool or not, you've stepped into a tangled skein that's had more hands and years weaving than you could possibly imagine." Severus Snape purred, his velvet soft voice implacable as steel.

Draco Malfoy stared down at the blackened sphere, trying to see just exactly how many times he'd gone wrong. How could he possibly have been this blind? It felt like everything he'd been so proud of, had turned rotten - and with him standing on it besides, to the point where he feared he'd plunge into the abyss. Of course, Snape's abyssal eyes were reinforcing the allusion.

Professor Snape let him sit there, thinking, until he raised his eyes, looking steadily at his Head of House. "What should I do?"

"Surely you can't still believe that you can do one thing at school, and do another at home, do you?" Snape shook his head, his fine hair spraying everywhere, until with an impatient hand he brushed it back. "You must grow up or die."

Draco Malfoy looked at Snape's long, white fingers, curled gently around his wand. He had known, for years now, that Snape was a killer. That made his last statement less of a threat than a prediction he was entirely too capable of making come true.

"Choose One. Potter or your father." Snape said, his hand entirely unmoving on that stick that could more easily take Draco's life than fix it.

[a/n: More to this conversation to come! What do you think? Let me know in a review!

-This scene is why I didn't worry terribly much about the reader who forgot that Draco's 13, not 15 or 16. This is _totally_ the sort of thing a thirteen year old does.]


	41. Adverse Selection

Draco Malfoy stared at the blackened ball, the sparkles and swirls not helping his concentration in the slightest. Still, he eventually took a deep breath, and started to drain his frustration with himself into the ground at his feet. In. Out. In. Out.

 _Could_ he... was he _really_...? Could he even _dare_ contemplate fighting the Dark Lord? It seemed a relentless, daunting task. The sort of thing... Draco's breath caught in his lungs, turning icy cold, The sort of thing he could almost see Severus Snape doing, hardbitten killer that he was. _Was_ that Snape's game?

Before his nerve (or his inquisitiveness) could fail him, Draco resolutely set the entire matter to the side. He wanted to know, firmly, whether or not he could be on his father's side. On the Dark Lord's side. Oh, sure, there was the small matter of knowing about where Potter was - that point actually worked in his favor, Draco thought, as that would be a quick way to the Dark Lord's favor.

His mind conjured his last recollection of Bellatrix Black, haggard, thin and raving. Sirius Black, wherever he was, looked almost worse - that grim look in his eye had always promised a quick death. At least Bottomlong's parents were nearly comatose. His relatives were nightmare fuel.

And the Dark Lord had left them there, to rot.

Wherever he was, he was clearly enough of a present danger that Dumbledore (Snape?) was hiding Harry Potter. Was, definitely, training him in unexpected ways.

And yet... he hadn't done a thing for his followers, abandoned in the dark depths of Azkaban. Draco had _seen_ them, twisted wretched hulks, thin as corpses.

 _No_.

Draco Malfoy could _not_ serve a master that cruel and uncaring. Prison, certainly, would not agree with him. It would drive him mad - the other Blacks were proof of that. Even his father (from his brief stay) had his dark days, when his vision clouded over, and he didn't understand.

Draco Malfoy could not imagine a worse fate, than not even knowing that you lived, trapped in a loop, experiencing over and over again your worst moments, worst memories.

He'd rather _die_.

And, perhaps he _would_ , fighting against the Dark Lord. But, for all of that, at least it would be clean. At least he'd know his death, not go trodding into the afterlife convinced that he had yet more days to die, dooming himself to an unquiet restless sleep for all of eternity.

"I choose Potter." Draco Malfoy said at last, confident as he looked into his godfather's impatient eyes.

"So be it." Snape said, habitually giving not a shred of emotion to his voice. "Congratulations, you've just won me fifty galleons."

"Fifty?" Draco Malfoy said, startled, looking at Snape with renewed attention. "How?"

"The rest of the teachers and I placed a bet, ten galleons apiece, on which house the first student to discover Potter would belong to." Snape shook his head, letting his fine hair flow over his features, before he pushed it back behind his ears. "You can imagine my surprise when I learned of your discovery, his very _first_ day in school." Draco Malfoy felt his breath freeze inside of him again, _Luna_ \- no wonder she'd not wanted to be involved, not in the slightest. She knew? Sort-of? Knowing enough to know not to look is a very curious form of knowing.

Snape folded his long fingers together, and looked at his godson, "Draco, I have an assignment for you. You say you want to be on Potter's side."

"I do, sir." Draco Malfoy said flatly, his voice laved clean of emotion.

"How will you help?" Snape said. He gave Draco Malfoy enough time to nod, before proferring his hand, and asking, "Oh, give me that bauble back, would you?"

"Bauble, sir?" Draco Malfoy said, looking at the sphere in his hand.

"You didn't really believe me when I told you it could sense lies, now did you?" Snape had that smug look that Draco generally exulted in (but which felt substantially more upsetting when it was being used on Draco himself).

"Sir?" Draco said, "Yes, sir?" He kept his response short and sweet. It wouldn't stop the mockery, but would minimize it.

"Eloquent as a Gryffindor. You'll fit in just nicely." Snape said, "It turns dark when warmed, nothing more. You are dismissed"

Draco Malfoy wanted to curse, and did as soon as he left the office, kicking at the wall until his stubbed toe smarted.

[a/n: And, the game's afoot! Luna knows what she doesn't know, and knows enough to not poke deeply into things she shouldn't know.

Leave a review? Did you like this section?

I must confess, I've gotten kind of sick of all the "Draco Malfoy has a change of heart and knows his father's words are rubbish" fics, so I'm doing something different. A rational decision to switch sides, motivated entirely by fear and cold assessment of both sides. (yes, Draco thinks - accurately - that Potter wouldn't leave him to rot in prison).

Draco is taking Snape's reputation a bit more seriously than he ought. Snape would have simply obliviated him (hence why the comment to Potter). ]


	42. Screaming at himself

As much as Draco simply wanted to scream at himself, and keep screaming, until he was blasted hoarse and everything felt better, somehow, because then his throat would feel nearly as badly as his head did, he harshly curbed that side of himself.

Instead, he started running. Now, it wasn't just anyone who could run through Hogwarts like a bat out of Hell (Snape never ran, he strode), but Draco Malfoy had long ago learned the dusty, forgotten ways. And so when he spilled out onto the top of the Astronomy Tower, blinking in the bright light, the sight that greeted the picnicking couple was remarkable. Unforgettable. Astonishing.

Draco Malfoy, clad in sweat, his hair dripping with it, his face nearly pink* with exertion. Dashing past them, he ran to the railing, and let out a yawp, letting it echo over the entire land.

Turning backward, still holding the railing, he looked at the couple, tucked together - and inexplicably paused. Or perhaps not so hard to understand. They looked quite frightened, really.

"Do you mind?" Draco hissed, and they fled, leaving the picnic basket behind. Draco strolled over, looking at the basket, before picking up the bottle of red and pouring a sniff into one of the glasses.

"Delightful," Draco's voice purred, and he poured another, downing the entire glass. There was something about a bit of a buzz that inspired feats of ingenuity. And Draco knew he was going to need every ounce of determination to get this right.

*he's still pale, guys. he doesn't even blush right. sorry.

[a/n: Nope, he's not going on a bender. 13, guys. Entirely too young for that, at least without getting horsewhipped by Snape for doing it in Public.]


	43. Above and Below

Above, Draco Malfoy paced on top of the Astronomy tower. There needed to be something he could do. This wasn't enough, not the course that he could see. He... wasn't... going to let himself be 'The New Ron Weasley'. That... would just be pathetic.

With thin pursed lips, Draco Malfoy remembered the 'Golden Triad', Granger with her wild hair and incessant nagging, Ron with his gap-toothed smile, and Harry Potter, somehow always inbetween.

He laid back, bracing his back against the wall, and thought, and thought some more. Perhaps... perhaps if he helped Potter (better start calling him Curt, they were friends, after all). Potter himself, no matter what faith others showed in him, didn't truly seem like he was capable of... that. Some help from any quarter was certainly in order, Draco thought.

And, that was another thing - why was everyone putting so much faith in a thirteen year old? That was beyond implausible, wasn't it? Draco would have to figure out why...

* * *

The Hufflepuff common room wasn't nearly as airy as the Gryffindor one. This had something to do with the lack of windows. Still, when everyone was laughing about the latest prank on Cedric (he was one of the Twins' favorite targets, as he rarely struck back, but when he did it was with vim and vigor). His black hair was currently Hufflepuffian gold, and he was talking about how everyone had promptly deemed him King of Hufflepuff, a title that lasted through several classes (as his partners addressed him thusly looking for answers). Apparently the only person to be even a little irate was Snape, and his trademark wit, which had resulted in a five minute long interrogation at the start of class, and had ended with "Royalty will not save you from detention, Sir Cedric of Diggory." (Apparently he had managed to miss an answer on a seventh year potion that had recently been struck from the Potions List. Snape had no mercy, everyone knew that, so no one thought anything of his rampant cruelty).

[a bit of an interstitial chapter. Up next, Draco Malfoy finds Potter (because, as of this, Potter's been banned from finding Malfoy.) Hijinks ensue.]


	44. Indecision

Harry Potter hated having to wait for things. And he wasn't allowed to throw Draco Malfoy at a wall and demand answers. Any answers at all, and Harry had a lot of questions. He wanted to know... well, everything. Why, how - Malfoy'd known, and despite Snape saying that it 'most likely' wasn't Harry's fault, Harry still wanted to dissect what was going on.

And, shite, Curt began to mentally review in his head his conversation with Snape. "Don't approach Malfoy. Let him come to you." Shite. That sounded like it was an invitation for 'never happening.' And not because Malfoy had simply decided to give up, either. Harry'd learnt that Snape didn't _believe_ in rules, so much as he believed bending them was preferable to breaking them. And so, Snape might have simply decided to obliviate Malfoy, and to hell with subtlety.

It had certainly seemed like Malfoy hadn't told a single soul, and really - wasn't that the perfect setup for Obliviate?

Curt was not Harry Potter, and so wasn't allowed to aggressively stare at Malfoy until Malfoy felt like doing anything to stop the green-eyed menace. Nor was he allowed to start a pointless argument, or a fight, or even to yank Malfoy into the nearest broomcloset (not that Curt wanted to be doing that... with anyone, really.).

It was infuriating. Harry'd have to find something to do, even if it meant going to the _library_. Going to the library (as he well knew), was almost heartbreaking. He couldn't go over to speak with Hermione or even Ron - and they looked so... broken. Hermione struggling vainly to hold herself together just long enough to do her homework, and Ron, well, too listless to even resist when Hermione insisted that he work right alongside her.

Harry just felt pathetic, and he hated this helpless feeling. He idly pulled out a supplemental book to second year Transfiguration (he'd never gotten the theory quite right), and sat down to start studying. He sat openly, at one of the long line of tables in the center of the room. He liked the space - the stacks always felt a lot like his old cupboard under the stairs, and made him feel claustrophobic. Mostly. He didn't like to think about what they made him feel like otherwise.

[a/n: Snape didn't really think very hard about telling Harry to sit tight. Harry's not so good at sitting tight.]


	45. Psst Grab a seat

Draco Malfoy had been waiting for Harry Potter to talk with him. He didn't want to be the person running around hanging on a Hufflepuff's words. And yet, a full day had passed, and Curt hadn't even so much as glanced momentously at him. So he wasn't sure exactly what to do. In frustration, he had begun to walk the halls of Hogwarts, not really caring how dusty he got (and that was a change, wasn't it?). Mentally, he reviewed what he had learned in the past few days.

Snape. Shite, it always came down to Snape, didn't it?

... and Snape had gotten his information from Potter, hadn't he?

At about this point, Draco Malfoy wanted to punch the walls until his knuckles bled, because he started to see exactly why Curt hadn't said a word.

He had been told not to, and for once in the miserable bloke's existence, he seemed capable of following the rules.

Worse, it made a miserable sort of sense - if Draco had gotten himself obliviated, Curt would need to react to what Draco had conjured in place of "Why I am Curt's friend." And, like many things mental, that could have been anything.

So, obviously, Curt wasn't supposed to go and talk with him.

Draco found himself a floor above Curt - as the other boy trudged towards the Great Hall, his mind clearly on anything rather than where he was walking. "Psst!" Draco hissed, jerking his head when Curt looked up. "Walk with me."

Draco could almost swear that he saw a faint anticipation steal over Curt's features, as he headed up the steps.

Curt walked placidly beside Draco, while Draco wanted to scream forbidden questions at him. Curt merely smiled at Draco's increasingly frustrated glances that were slowly turning into a constant, melting glare. Curt laced his fingers behind his head, and he said, "If you want to remain my friend, you owe House Hufflepuff an apology."

"They got to you already, did they?" Malfoy said, nearly spitting his words.

"I should _try_ to get along with my house, shouldn't I?" Curt said reprovingly.

"I always do," Draco agreed, "But then again, I'm not in the House of Friendship. They might like you better if you played hard to get."

"Befriending a bully isn't 'playing hard to get' - it's just a way to get ostracised." Potter continued, a shade colder than Draco had ever heard him (and considering what Draco had said about his parents... that was saying something).

"I'll apologize," Draco said promptly, and Curt relaxed - Draco found himself gratified that Curt was... concerned about him, at all, really.

[a/n: You've been there. You know you have.

Leave a review!

Draco's right to not expect immediate friendship from Harry...]


	46. Herbology, remember?

Draco Malfoy was sitting outside, reading a book, when Curt went by. He lightly bounced to his feet, gathering a light stone, and headed after. For some odd reason, Curt was all alone. That wasn't generally a hufflepuff thing to do. Draco lightly chucked the rock at Curt, who turned around, looking a bit baffled. His expression cleared when he saw Malfoy.

"Draco!"

"We were going to study Herbology, remember?" Draco drawled, knowing that they'd agreed on no such thing, but also knowing that Potter was just as hopeless at Herbology as he was at Potions.

"Oh, yeah, right." Curt said with a smile. "Lead the way!"

"I don't think we'll need our books for this one," Draco said, as they drew near the greenhouses. "Just a bit of practical experience."

"Yeah, I've got a lot of practical experience with weeds," Curt put in slowly, "Just not the magical ones."

"Fear not, brave heart! My magic shall come to your aid!" Draco said in his best impression of Godric Gryffindor. Curt cracked up, his hand over his mouth until they were both laughing as they entered the greenhouse.

Curt's eyes cleared the instant they were inside, "What's wrong? Unless you really did _just_ want to study?"

"Not exactly," Draco said with a hopefully-not-creepy smile. "What, exactly do the Hufflepuffs want me to apologize for? It's been bothering me."

"Being a bully, hitting on younger kids, you know - you _do_ know, right?" Harry said the last part, and it sounded like him and a lot less like Curt, who tended a bit more towards genial.

"Oh," Draco Malfoy said, looking down. He wasn't sure how he felt about that, but he also wasn't sure... Eventually, he said, "Okay..." and they got down to work on their Herbology. Wrestling plants was more a Curt thing than a Malfoy thing, but he was able to help with intricate cages of magic that helped to seal the snapdragons in. Unfortunately, his name didn't actually extend any benefits when working with the plants.

After Curt had left, Draco spent a good deal of time with his head buried in his hands, thoughts crashing around his skull like waves, reverberating and only getting larger. Of course they'd have to have asked him to apologize about that. It couldn't be something easy. And yet, he'd have to... have to _try_ , wouldn't he? He really didn't want to have come this far and not... for just a stupid apology!

Still, it wouldn't hurt if he moved up some of his plans a little bit, Draco Malfoy thought as he left the greenhouse, settling into his usual jaunty and confident pace. Better talk to Davies in the morning.

[a/n:


	47. Brilliant Idea

Draco Malfoy strolled up to Roger Davies, and drawled, "Have you considered my proposal?"

Roger responded in his precise tones, "Yes, and It's a brilliant idea!" Then Roger looked at Malfoy a bit more skeptically. "A bit too good, if you ask me."

"And why would I do that?" Draco Malfoy asked coldly.

"Any reason you don't want the credit?" Roger spat back.

"There's about ten people in this school who could be remotely considered to like me." Draco Malfoy started out, his voice low and cold. People always hated Slytherins when they spoke truth, it was why they did it so seldomly.

"So, poor little Slytherin?" Davies asked, his tonality explaining that he was making fun of Draco's wealth not being able to fix everything.

"So, if you start it up, everyone'll join." Draco said.

"Not everyone, just people who like chess." Davies responded.

"In other words, the important people." Draco finished, crossing his arms and doing a fine job of looking haughty. His words summoned a genuine laugh from the dark-haired boy.

As Draco strode away, he carefully unwrapped his feelings, as if they were coated in a thousand layers of gauze, allowing just a ghost of a smirk to quirk his lips.

* * *

Up again, high where only the wind can reach me. Draco thought, spreading his hands into a Y above his head, letting the wind squeeze through his fingers.

There was some trouble with apologizing to the Hufflepuffs, he thought, I don't want to do it. No, no, this isn't just something like adolescent pique. I'm not ... I'm... perfectly serious. I have to do something, I know that... Harry's not going to be my friend just because I asked him to. That's not how this works. I know that too... but.

I can't apologize if I don't mean it.

I meant what I did then, and I'd mean to do it again today, if I didn't have any other solution.

... that's not what you apologize for!

That's what you fix, how you fix it - changing ideas for the better.

But those sorts of changes don't come with an apology.

Somehow...

Somehow, I have to make Potter _and_ the Hufflepuffs understand.

And the ratbastards are hiding, as if they know I've got a deadline and they most certainly don't.

[a/n: Um, yeah. In general, people tend to write Draco like he doesn't apologize.

I can see a certain something to that approach, but this is a good deal more genuine (if still haughty and arrogant).

He can't apologize sincerely, because he's NOT sorry.

Now, you can feel free to review, or just write back speculating about what's been going on that Curt doesn't know about.]


	48. Harry's View

Another week of classes. Harry hadn't thought before just how far behind he generally got, what with Quiddich and the general horsing around that happened in House Gryffindor. Hufflepuff House was all different, though - they could be just as fun, and occasionally rambunctious, but they generally had their homework done first - in no small part because Cedric or one of the other older students supervised the younger ones.

And so Harry Potter actually had a bit of time for recreational reading. Not that he was a person particularly fond of reading, but... reading meant the library, and that meant that he didn't have to spend all his time with the Hufflepuffs. Not that they weren't nice - in fact, that was the problem. Half the time Harry couldn't tell who he was, or whose feet he was stepping on, everyone was going so far out of their way to be nice to each other!

As a firstie, Harry'd been sure that the worst house had to be Slytherin. But, after you got used to it, Hufflepuff was in its own way constraining and confining. Gryffindor raised brave kids, sure, and they got into punch-it-out fights a lot. But at least you knew where you stood. Harry figured Ravenclaw was the same way - loners and introverts tended to simply say what they thought, consequences be damned.

"Draco!" Harry called out, seeing his ... friend... walking the aisles of the library. "Finished that apology yet?" Harry didn't want to ask why Malfoy's face had darkened at the question. But, slowly turning it over in his head, Harry began to get the picture. Malfoy, for whatever reason, didn't want to apologize. Maybe wouldn't apologize, and that would be bad, Harry thought. Maybe... Harry crossed his legs setting his thoughts aside for the moment, as he rejoined Malfoy's riposte about the Hufflepuff chaser with a moderate insult of his own towards Slytherins' beaters (Malfoy's friends, but he took the insult in good stride - making fun of the Goons intelligence was simply "what's done").

[a/n: sorry this has been so slow. Draco's kind of procrastinating, kind of trying not to think about what's coming up next. So we get Harry, who is rapidly discovering that Hufflepuff wears thin in about a week and a half.

Leave a review?]


	49. Courtesy is a Lady's armor

It was time. Draco Malfoy had nodded to Curt as he'd left the Great Hall, and Curt had risen and walked nearly beside him - almost moral support, that half step behind that said that if Draco decided to pull a runner, Harry wouldn't let him. Moral support with a spine, you might call it.

Draco Malfoy didn't want to be doing this. He'd been dreading this since it'd come up - and he'd lost all hope that he could actually pull this off.

Confidence, pride, and courtesy. Honor first, above all things. Draco Malfoy summoned his courage - least of his traits, but no less important than his self-control, in this rare instance. He knew that, for all his queasy nervousness, he looked completely unruffled. He also had a feeling that Curt knew that he was nervous, somehow - probably the long periods of studying that they'd spent together.

Curt hadn't heard Malfoy's sneering comments in the Slytherin common room, or he might not have been so quick to support his... new friend. Not that Draco'd try to hide those comments - what was done was done, and expecting bored wastes-of-space not to gossip was a futile endeavor.

Confidence and Pride, straighten your spine.

Honor and courtesy, you're not at their mercy.

And they were there, in front of the barrels that Draco Malfoy knew represented the entrance to the Hufflepuff Common Room. Not that he knew the password - a point of pride, that. Both that he could get in whenever he pleased (which was never, but still), and that the Hufflepuffs were so unimportant that it didn't matter that he hadn't learned it.

[a/n: Thanks for the review, guest! I promise another chapter per review, at minimum.]


	50. Cold eyes

Draco entered the Hufflepuff Common Room, with his spine straight and his mien confident. He'd been schooled in how to look calm and secure, even when he really wanted the lollie, after all. He'd been four at the time, and taught how to demand things, not foolishly show how much he wanted them.

So Draco sauntered in, catching an odd half glimpse of Curt behind him, looking slightly nervous, if pretty quiet about it.

Draco was faced with an entire room of Hufflepuffs, with cold assessing eyes. That, he thought, was actually a good sign. Anger, at this point, would be counterproductive. He'd rather they be slightly hostile, with open ears.

Cedric smiled at Curt, as Draco moved to the center of the room, the thought of enemies at his back doing his mood no good.

"I heard you have something to say to us!" One hufflepuff (a sixth year, Draco thought, from the size).

"Yeah!" Another shouted, and the room devolved into a ruckus of hollering and catcalling that eventually resolved into the entire room chanting "A-po-lo-gy!" over and over again.

Finally, Cedric bellowed, "Quiet!" And like good little Hufflepuffs, the room settled down. "What do you have to say for yourself, Malfoy?" He asked, and Draco caught a glimpse of fleeting kindness inside those eyes.

"I cannot take back what I've done. With your help, I will make better choices in the future." Draco Malfoy said shortly, but sincerely.

"Are... are you sorry?" A small first year asked, and Draco was suddenly glad that he hadn't been hanging that child with pigtails by her ankles, giving her a shakedown. Those eyes reflected a sincerity that was disarming, even to him.

"No, I'm not sorry for my actions." Draco Malfoy said, squatting down to be on a level with the girl, who'd been sitting on an ottoman.

"But you hurt people!" She responded.

Any response Draco Malfoy might have said, was completely cut off as Cedric stood. "Hufflepuffs are the house of friendship, it's true. But we're also the house of hard work. And so we take what you have to say today, as a first step, towards proving yourself a friend of our House."

Cedric was smiling, and it wasn't a terribly friendly smile. Draco felt a worm of disquiet wriggling in his stomach. "Let me tell you about the second step."

"We've taken the liberty of making cards for you." Cedric held one up, as Draco belatedly realized that the smiles on other Hufflepuffs' faces were amusement incarnate.

The card read:

Draco Malfoy, Wizard for Hire.

5 Sickles an hour.

Odd Jobs, Any Jobs, Reasonable Jobs Included.

Draco gulped, thinking just how much his father would hate to hear of such a thing. Malfoys never needed to work, and to be charging a fee that even the Weasleys could afford? It was demeaning, Draco thought. It was also a way out of an impossible bind. He was going to take it.

And then, Cedric, perhaps sensing Draco's resolve, flipped the card.

"Rent a Bully" it said on the back, in big letters.

Draco turned white (which, given his pallor, was really more of a blue), and pursed his lips, suddenly not caring what the Hufflepuffs thought of him. He tried to hide the shaking of his hands though, might not want to look more vulnerable.

Cedric cut into Draco's introspection, saying, "That's only visible to Hufflepuffs, of course." With a broad smile, he said, "You can do odd jobs for all of Hogwarts this year."

It was really only half a year, Draco Malfoy thought with a snap. And really, what choice do I have? He nodded crisply, and proffered his hand to accept the cards.

[a/n: Leave a review if you want more!]


	51. Party Hardy!

And with that, the tense moment broke. There were loud cheers, and hoots and hollers - and if anyone was really upset, it was hard to pin them down in the crowd of Happy Hufflepuffs.

Draco was glad he wasn't a Gryffindor, or he'd be blushing about now.

Cedric clapped Draco on the back, and as Draco turned to him, he said, "You didn't really think we'd leave you hanging, man, did you?" The look was smug and open and forthright at once. "Never fear, we'll rub off on you in the end!" And there was more clapping of Draco's back. It was only as he got a brief glimpse of Curt that he realized that he hadn't been in on the whole thing.

"How'd you know?" Draco Malfoy asked, trying - hard - to relax some of his eternal, infernal diction lessons.

"Oh, it didn't take no Slytherin to see how serious you were taking it, and how upset you were." Cedric said, and Hannah was suddenly beside him, pulling Draco into a strong, plump hug.

"You'll fit in, I reckon." Sue Bones said, with a doughty smile, "Or else. We're pretty good at shaving off rough edges around here." Hannah snickered, and said, "speaking of rough edges" as her best friend elbowed her and said, "hannah be nice." Zach Smith was approaching, and Draco Malfoy wanted to do something other than let him.

"I knew you could do it," Zach Smith said, in that normal officious tone of his, - somehow it came across as genial. He was good, Draco Malfoy had to give him credit for that.

By the time the celebration was over, everyone was full of butterbeer and cookies. In all his time at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy had never seen the like. Hufflepuff parties were indeed something else.

[a/n: second post of the day. Reviews will keep me focused on this story!]


	52. Jobs

Cedric had taken the honor of first job, apparently, as Draco discovered coming out of his Common Room the next day, his head still throbbing from liquor. It hadn't been strong liquor, but there had been a looooot of toasts.

"Ah! There you are!" Cedric said, pivoting to face Malfoy. "I'm not supposed to see, I know, so I closed my eyes and listened." And then Cedric gave that wide grin that all the girls squealed about. Yes, even the Slytherins.

Still, despite the handsomeness, Draco Malfoy had to admit that Cedric had a point. "So what did you want?"

"An assignment for you." Cedric said, "I need broomsticks polished before our next match." _That was with Ravenclaw, wasn't it?_

Malfoy nodded, "That'll take three hours."

Cedric handed over the change. "Do it after our last practice." _That meant on Friday night._ Draco was vaguely surprised that Cedric had been first. It made for good policy, really, but that assumed that the Hufflepuffs had any idea of the changelings in their midst. Which was a ridiculous thought.

[a/n: no, not ACTUAL changelings. Leave review?]


End file.
